


The Form of a Goddess

by 264feet



Series: The Form of a Goddess [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Family Feels, Female My Unit | Byleth, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Growing Up, Podfic Available, Suicide, Team as Family, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/264feet/pseuds/264feet
Summary: Byleth is a strange child. Jeralt does his best to raise his son, not knowing she's actually his daughter. | Edelgard grows up feeling like a stranger in her own body. When she and Byleth meet, they connect based on that loneliness.[Backstory fic going into Crimson Flower route with canon alterations.]
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis
Series: The Form of a Goddess [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046980
Comments: 40
Kudos: 155





	1. awakenings

Jeralt throws open the cabin door and steps outside.

“Byleth?” he calls. Hopefully the kid can hear him over the crickets and owls. They’re louder than an angry mob tonight.

He gets no response except for the sound of grass rustling towards him. Jeralt breathes a sigh of relief. That means Byleth heard him.

Soon, the dirt-covered child trots into the cabin, an assortment of toys held over his shoulder: a wooden sword, a cloth doll, and a fishing pole (aka, a string tied to a piece of bamboo). He tracks dirt through the cabin.

Jeralt has no problem with dirt- hell, they would live somewhere more modern than Remire Village if he did- but he can hear a little nagging voice from over his shoulder. No one’s there, of course. Not anymore. “Take off your boots, put your toys away, and wash up for supper.”

Byleth gives him an expressionless look. The child slips off his boots and trots off to do the rest. He’s about waist-high now, and while there’s not much progress in the “speaking” or “showing emotions” department, he’s good at fishing, fighting, and hunting. When he’s old enough, Jeralt can teach him the ins and outs of another favorite skill: drinking.

Then again, Jeralt isn’t sure exactly how old the kid is. Or how old he is. Old enough that he didn’t think he would make it this far, to be honest.

A part of him will always feel guilty for dragging Byleth around beside a group of mercenaries, rather than settling down in some town that has a school. Jeralt has taught him what he knows of how to read, in addition to some arithmetic- enough to know when the shopkeepers are scamming you- but all the paternal love in the world can’t replace the presence of peers.

Byleth returns like a shadow against the wall. He snaps out of his thoughts. “I cooked up some wild boar. Wanted to have a special meal tonight, just the two of us.”

He shrugs and heads to the dinner table, where two bowls await. He climbs into a chair and turns to his father. “Thanks for the food.” The child’s voice creaks in their throat from disuse.

Jeralt takes his place opposite Byleth and smiles. “Uh-huh. Eat up.”

* * *

After finishing dinner, Jeralt holds a lock of Byleth’s hair between his fingers. The blue mop of hair reaches the kid’s shoulders. “Looks like you need a haircut.”

“I don’t want one,” Byleth responds. His brow furrows.

Jeralt blinks. Huh.

“Why not?” Jeralt asks. “Long hair makes it easier for an opponent to grab you in a fight.”

“I can handle myself.”

When Jeralt’s not at the campfire with the other mercs, he overhears their grumbling about being knocked flat by a kid while sparring. _He’s creepy, not at all like the boss,_ one would say. Another would add, _when he disarms you and points the training sword at your throat, he doesn’t show any emotion, like some kind of demon._

“I know, Byleth,” Jeralt says. He hesitates. This level of emotion and backtalk is unprecedented. He feels like he’s riding into battle during a solar eclipse. “Why don’t you want a haircut?”

“I like it long.”

None of Jeralt’s mercenaries have long hair. None of the men, anyway. Some women do, but they tend to tie it back during battle. But the men and women separate to different halves of the camp during the nights, and Jeralt usually keeps Byleth by his side, the mens’ side. When would Byleth have time to idolize long hair?

Byleth adds a detail. “You have long hair.”

He absently reaches back and touches his thin braid. “I’m old, kid. I keep the hair I’ve got left. Nobody’s going to grab my braid from horseback, anyhow.”

“I could ride a horse sometime.” He pauses innocently. “Or a pegasus.”

“We’ll get a new pony if we get the money.” Jeralt’s brow twitches. “Pegasi mostly take to women, you know.”

“Maybe one would like me.”

It feels wrong to just shoot the kid down when he’s soaring so high. He’s not smiling, but there’s something in his voice.

Hope?

“We’ll see, Byleth.” Jeralt pats Byleth on the back. “Want to help me clean up?”

“Yes.”

Byleth’s words dry up. The hypothetical eclipse ends, but Jeralt isn’t sure he’s been charging in the right direction.

* * *

Byleth holds his sword ready. The bandit looks around, sweating. He’s surrounded. He could surrender and be carted off to the nearest lord’s prison, or he could take advantage of the fact that the mercenaries left a hole in their circle: this weak looking teenager in front of him.

“Out of the way, pipsqueak!” the bandit roars, raising his axe high over his head. The kid’s such an amateur. He doesn’t even get scared.

There’s a slash, and a wet sound, and then just the cicadas. Blood drips off Byleth’s sword. The bandit, axe still aloft, falls backwards. He doesn’t live long enough to see ground.

Jeralt steps next to his son and puts his hand on his shoulder. The kid is chest-high now. “Anyone else have any funny ideas?”

The bandit’s groupmates drop their weapons and raise their hands. Jeralt nods and his mercs bound their hands with rope and load them onto the cart. His right-hand man, Cerrik, will ride with a small escort into the next town to collect the bounty; Jeralt and the others stay and clean up. Jeralt used to collect the bounty himself, but he’s old and bad at dealing with people who don’t want to kill him or don’t work for him.

He knows Byleth hears the whispers as the horses whinny and the cart drives off. _Borin really challenged the Ashen Demon._ And: _he’s just as terrifying as I heard. Inhuman._

Jeralt has watched people die. He’s killed. He’s gone up alone against a small army and wound up standing alone, ankle-deep in blood. None of that really affects him anymore.

But the complete silence after a battle does. The absence of birds or small animals, just a heavy breeze over soft grass. Jeralt swears that they could be just outside a festival and the heavy silence would suppress the sound, as if he and Byleth were trapped in a bubble.

Byleth taps his arm lightly, popping it. “Ready to clean up?”

His voice is changing. He’s taller. Byleth’s once-gentle stare has changed. His eyes used to reflect fishing on summer nights. They still do, to an extent, but they also reflect just as much of the silence after a battle.

Most of all, though, his hair is as long as Sitri’s.

“Yeah.”

Sometimes, after they collect the bounties, the bandits’ family members will come all the way out into the country to claim the bodies of their estranged child or sibling. They take them home for a proper funeral. It’s rare, though, and the process can take days. They don’t have that long to linger around-- plus, they start stinking.

For now, Jeralt and Byleth work efficiently to dig graves for the fallen.

Jeralt doesn’t like to kill, but if the enemy gives no other choice- and just as happily would kill you- then it’s a necessary thing. He encourages his mercs to capture, not kill. Cerrik busts his ass for it sometimes, says he puts coin ahead of the safety of his crew. It’s a big reason why he volunteered Cerrik to collect the bounties rather than cleanup from now on.

The time in silence with Byleth, burying the dead, as birds start to return to the trees-- it’s special, in a strange way. Byleth takes an iron axe out of the hands of the bandit that tried to kill him. He closes the man’s eyelids. Together, he and Jeralt lower the man into the grave.

Felize returns. She and Grace have buried the only other casualty. It was a good day. “Done,” Felize says, wiping sweat from her brow. “You’d think the damn Knights would clean up sometimes, right?”

Byleth’s nose scrunches in that slight way it does when he hears ‘knights’ or ‘church’. Like they’re some type of old family member who’s only mentioned in passing, usually after the latest mishap.

Jeralt snorts. “They’re in no rush to clean up ‘heretics’.” Also known as the Church’s long list of people it doesn’t like.

The less he talks about the Church of Seiros, the better. He glances at Byleth. Maybe once they save up enough, they could run off for a while. Visit Almyra, where they worship the land itself.

Byleth’s eyes are focused on Felize and Grace as they begin to clear out a campsite. He looks up at Jeralt and then quickly looks at the grass.

He _is_ that age, Jeralt supposes. He might start looking at girls (or other boys, Jeralt doesn’t care) in a new light.

By now, Jeralt thinks he can read his child better than anyone else. If Byleth were forming crushes, he might blush or hum to himself. He followed Felize around like a shadow for a year or so when he was half his current height.

This time, though, there’s none of that. Byleth focuses firmly on the ground in front of him as he helps set up a camp.

“Hey, Byleth. Let me talk to you for a minute.”

Jeralt taps the shovel on the ground. The land has been evened out. Byleth’s eyes flicker from the grave to Jeralt.

“You did what you had to do. That guy wouldn’t have surrendered. He knew the odds,” Jeralt says, softly.

Byleth shrugs. Did Jeralt misread him?

He takes after Jeralt’s code of honor; he doesn’t like killing, either. Making sure Byleth grows up with a personal sense of honor, not some mantra made up by fundies, is Jeralt’s top priority. It’s why he makes him dig graves.

“I usually have better control over my blade,” Byleth says.

Maybe Jeralt was right, then. The killing has bothered him. But if that’s true, why won’t Byleth look him in the eye?

Jeralt squeezes Byleth’s shoulder. “We’ll get in some extra practice if it makes you feel better.”

“Sure.”

A dove returns to the tree. It lets out soft _coo_ sounds.

Jeralt sighs. “You know… bandits don’t just become bandits because they’re born evil. The farm has a drought, or there’s an emergency illness… soon, there’s no other way to put food on the table.”

Byleth has finally looked up into his eyes.

“If the Church…” _Would give a shit about the people alive today rather than preaching about 10 dead assholes_ \-- “If the Church would offer more help to people, they wouldn’t end up like this. A lot of them are still good, honest men. There’s no way out, so they fight us when they’re outnumbered--”

“They want us to kill them?”

“Some of ‘em do.” Jeralt shrugs. “Byleth.”

“Hm?”

“No matter how deep you are in the shadows, remember that there’s always a light.”

Back at the Monastery, Sitri had been his light. Being a light for Byleth keeps him going, even though she was a star and he’s a candlelight.

Jeralt continues. “Your life is your life. I’ll be proud of you no matter what… You’re free to follow whatever path you think is best. Just never give up on your life, okay? You can be anything you want.”

Byleth’s eyes have wandered. He’s looking at Felize again. Then, guiltlessly, he looks back at Jeralt. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll remember that.”

* * *

The tent opens. A hand holds out a shirt with a patch sown on front. A gracious mercenary slips his shirt back on. “Good as new! Thanks!”

An ‘okay’ symbol, followed by the hand waving. The merc steps out of line. The next mercenary hands over a ripped pair of trousers-- fortunately while wearing a secondary pair.

The hand takes the trousers and pulls them inside the tent.

As he walks away from the tent, the mercenary spies Jeralt. “Looks like your kid’s taking after you, boss,” he says. “Looks like he did a braid.”

Jeralt raises a brow. He strides over, cutting in line, and walks into the tent.

Byleth sews a rip in one of the knees of the trousers. His hair is pulled back into a simple braid.

“Hey, how’d you learn how to do that with your hair?”

Byleth doesn’t look up. “Watching. Keeps my hair up on busy days.”

‘Busy days’ refer to any number of days that center around weapon maintenance, budgeting, or clothing repair. “It suits you.”

There’s a smile in his eyes. “Thank you.”

Well, he did something right. Byleth smiling in his eyes is the equivalent of another man laughing uproariously and dancing on the table. Jeralt has no idea what he did right, though.

“Why are you wearing a skirt?” he asks, suddenly.

“It--” A rare pause. “It has spots for my supplies.”

Byleth gestures to the spools of thread and needles that are shoved haphazardly into the skirt’s pockets. Byleth had sewn on the pockets himself.

“Uh-huh,” Jeralt says.

“Do you need anything?” Byleth asks. It’s code for ‘get out’.

“While I’m here…” Jeralt crosses his arms. “A few of the women in our group have complained about personal items missing. Charms, small clothing items, other stuff. Do you know anything about that?”

He holds up the trousers. “If I stole any of these, they immediately would know it was me.”

“I guess, but…” Jeralt trails off.

Byleth has already outclassed Jeralt in fighting. Style and theory, at least, not experience and pure body mass. More important than that, he knows honor. He doesn’t even take the coin purses from the bandits.

Still, Byleth doesn’t follow along with the mens’ muscle exercises. He gets up early to shave by the lakeside, before the sun’s even up.

Jeralt doesn’t even know why he’s thinking about that. “Nevermind. If you get any information, let me know.”

“Love you.”

“You too, Sitri--”

Fuck.

The long hair, the soft eyes, the smooth skin, even the way he fights the change of his voice-- people don’t believe he and Jeralt are related, the latter being a bear of a man. He looks more like _her_.

“What was that?”

Jeralt walks out of the tent. That night, he holds the wedding ring in his fingers.

* * *

“There’s no two ways around it,” Cerrik says. “There’s a thief in our camp.”

It’s a month later. Jeralt had let the matter of the missing items slide until he found out someone was skirting money off the top of the company’s supply.

Jeralt has called everyone around a long table for a meeting. “Whoever’s responsible for this, talk to me privately. You aren’t in trouble.”

“With all due respect--” Cerrik says with rising anger.

“People don’t just steal for fun. We know this,” Jeralt says. “Maybe you’re in trouble. I get it. Talk to me and we can talk about you keeping the money, maybe getting some more side work.”

Cerrik sinks a dagger into the table.

“What happened to the Blade Breaker? Lately, we’ve been dealing with Jeralt ‘Wait-and-see’ Eisner!” he says, raising his voice. “If there’s a thief in our group, I don’t care what their reason is! I want to see them strung up myself! Just because _they’re_ poor doesn’t mean _we_ have no mouths to feed!”

The mercenaries’ eyes trail from Cerrik to Jeralt. He’s sure that he hears one of them gulp. Another is chewing their fingernails.

“What are you doing, Cerrik?” Jeralt asks, eyes narrowing.

“Trying to talk sense into you! A band of mercenaries is only as strong as its leader.” Cerrik holds his hands to the side. “This is a clear sign of weakness!”

“You’re speaking out of turn again. I’m not having any more discussion on this.”

“Then you’ve demonstrated you aren’t fit to be leader.” Cerrik draws his black steel sword. It’s chipped and ragged from decades of combat, but its enchantments keep it as sharp as the day it was forged. “Prove to me you still have a spine in there.”

Felize stands. “Don’t do this!”

“I know what I’m doing.” Cerrik aims his blade at Jeralt. “You’re rusty, old man.”

“You’re one to speak. You were ancient before we joined forces.” Unlike Jeralt, Cerrik has shown his age.

“I’m sick of your words! Show me what you are on the battlefield!” Cerrik yells. “Unless the thief wants to just reveal themself because of your oh-so-bold leadership?”

“It’s me.”

Byleth rises from the crowd. He’s wearing shorts and a shirt that’s just a bit too small for him. “I took the charms and some of the money. It’s because I don’t get a salary.”

“What do you need a salary for?!” Cerrik spits. “Your father gives you everything you want, _boy_! You stole from us!”

“I needed medicine. It’s a special kind. I had to order it from Anna last time we were in town.”

Another person who’s just as old as Jeralt, if not older. He shakes the thought from his head. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not sick. It’s a different kind of medicine.”

“What kind? Out with it,” Cerrik says.

“Hormone E2.” Byleth’s voice is dry. “She had to order it from a friend who studies Reason as it relates to the human body. It was expensive, so I did what I did.”

E2-- estrogen. Jeralt wouldn’t know if he didn’t spend so much time around medical scholars trying to save Sitri with something, _anything_.

“You little pervert!” Cerrik screams. “I have children going hungry because of you!”

Cerrik takes off like an arrow. Byleth hasn’t even drawn a sword.

Jeralt sprints into action. He’s too far from the scene. He might take the brunt of Cerrik’s attack if he shoves Byleth out of the way. It’ll be worth it.

Instead, he stops short of flames. The next thing he knows, Byleth stands in the same spot and a burning figure roars in pain.

“Was that a spell?” Felize gasps.

Jeralt snaps out of his shock. He grabs the horses’ trough of water and dumps it all on Cerrik. It puts out the fire, leaving him soaked and singed on the ground. He’s alive, but humiliated.

“Of course the _Ashen Demon_ would pull that trick out of nowhere.”

Despite their fight, Cerrik lets Jeralt help him to his feet. Cerrik knows the drill: solitary confinement in his quarters until further notice.

Jeralt sighs. His old friend has a tendency to fly off the handle, but this was new. He’ll talk it out with him later. For now, he turns to Byleth. “You can cast _Fire_?”

“I had to know what to ask for, with regards to Reason. The fire is new, mostly.”

“So, you…”

Jeralt hasn’t shed a tear in years. He’s still not about to, any more than a cracked riverbed could flow. But he feels the silence of the forest after a battle; he feels the weight of a child in his arms as he runs from the fire.

“Are you sick? Not sick, but… like your mother.” How could he not notice the signs? Byleth had been fighting well, but all the strange behavior… “I’ll… I’ll take you to Adrestia. The capital city. They’ll have medical workers there. I won’t let your health go like Sitri’s.”

“Dad.” Byleth waves a hand in front of Jeralt’s face. “I’m not dying.”

“Then why the hormones?”

Byleth sidesteps his father to address the watching mercenaries. He just took down someone who’s nearly Jeralt’s equal in battle, all without lifting a sword. The spectators aren’t sure if they should bow down or run.

“I am a woman,” Byleth announces. “I will go by the same name, but you will address me as such. I will return any stolen items that I still have and I will repay the debt with interest from my work going forward.”

With that, Byleth returns to her cabin. ‘He’ is dead, in a sense. But Jeralt’s daughter has just been reborn.

“Felize, keep an eye on Cerrik until I talk to him. I need to go embrace my daughter.”

Without hesitation, Jeralt follows after Byleth.

* * *

She’s lying facedown on the bed. It’s a clear sign of overstimulation.

“Byleth.” His voice is gentle. “Can I talk to you?”

No response. She’s breathing, fortunately, but all her muscles are tensed. She’s not dead or sleeping, just stressed.

Jeralt squats down next to her bedside. Funny how quickly he’s gotten used to referring to Byleth as ‘she’ and ‘her’-- it’s not really an adjustment. In fact, it seems to fit better with his mental image of Byleth.

“Byleth. You know I’m not the best with words.” Maybe if he had been more like Sitri, Byleth would be able to express herself better. She would have known exactly what to say. “So I’m… just going to say it plainly. I love you and support you, all right? Nothing will change that.”

She’s turned her head to look at him. He’s not sure if he expected to see tears, but of course, her face betrays no expression.

“Cerrik has always been an asshole. It’s one of the reasons I keep him around.” Better to have someone who will tell you like it is than to be surrounded by yes men, like a certain Archbishop he knows. “But he went too far this time. It’s one thing if he insults me, but I won’t let him insult my daughter.”

Her eyes widen. Her hand, dangling off the bedside, reaches out faintly. Jeralt takes it and gives her hand a squeeze.

Jeralt adds one last thing. “If he doesn’t want to apologize in full, then I’m asking him to pack up and leave our company. You’re more important to me than every other mercenary combined. Got it?”

Byleth doesn’t respond, but she gives his hand a firm squeeze. Jeralt smiles.

A moment later, he tries to get up, but Byleth holds his hand in place. He settles back down onto the floor. He’ll stay as long as she likes.

* * *

As the days go by, Byleth sews her own skirts. Fate spins its own thread. Cerrik apologizes. Byleth gets a proper salary. Felize gives her old clothing to keep. They train. They fight for the highest bidder. They return to their cabin in Remire Village.

And on the morning of a high-paying job that would almost certainly give Jeralt enough to slip into Almyra and live comfortably with Byleth, three students of the Officer’s Academy stand on their doorstep.

“Please forgive our intrusion. We wouldn’t bother you if the situation weren’t dire. We’re being pursued by a group of bandits, and I can only hope you’d be so kind as to lend your support.”

“Bandits? Here?”

Another nods. “We’ve been separated from our companions and we’re outnumbered. They’re out for our lives… not to mention our gold.”

Jeralt recognizes those uniforms. Why now, of all times? If they made it to horseback, they could probably be halfway to Faerghus by midday.

But that would mean leaving Remire Village behind. Abandoning his mercenaries. Dragging Byleth along like she’s just a child.

He looks to her. “Come on, let’s move. Hope you’re ready.”

The three students look from Jeralt to Byleth. “Pardon me, but can your daughter fight?” asks the girl.

A rare smile tugs at Byleth’s lips.

“Watch me.”

Byleth leads the charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://i.imgur.com/YCvQl5k.png


	2. apotheosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: canonical character death tag takes place in this chapter

Garreg Mach Monastery had intimidated Byleth with its size, but somehow, Rhea’s presence dwarfs even that. Byleth feels an inch tall standing before the Archbishop. Jeralt gives her a silent, reassuring nod before he re-introduces himself.

After Jeralt speaks, Rhea’s attention turns to Byleth. She still addresses Jeralt, eyes trained on Byleth as if she were a rare animal. “The miracle of fatherhood has blessed you. That is your son, is it not?”

“Daughter,” Jeralt corrects, firmly. For the faintest moment, Rhea’s eyes widen in confusion. “She was born many years after I left this place. I wish I could introduce you to her mother, but we lost her to illness.”

Rhea’s impassive face corrects itself, setting back into stone. She stares down at Byleth and dissects her with her eyes. “... I see. My apologies, and my condolences,” she says. “I have heard of your valiant efforts from Alois. What is your name?”

“Byleth.”

“Byleth.” She turns the name over in her mouth. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you for saving the students of the Officer’s Academy.”

“It was my pleasure.”

The next thing she knows, they’re presenting her with a professorship. _Make up your mind_ , she thinks, brows knitting together, _hate me or praise me_. Jeralt’s the only one to notice and gives her a slight shake of the head.

Only once she and Seteth are gone does Jeralt give her the lowdown. He’s rejoining the Knights and she has to choose one of the three Houses to teach-- and don’t trust Lady Rhea.

He doesn’t have to tell her twice.

* * *

“The Black Eagles House.”

“You are certain? Your choice is the Black Eagles House, led by Edelgard,” Rhea says. “Correct?”

She nods.

“Your heart has made its choice, then. All I ask is that you guide these open minds with virtue, care, and sincerity.”

Somehow, Byleth feels as if she’s made a major step down a branching path. It hadn’t been much of a choice, really. Claude seems nice, and she wants to know what secrets Dimitri is hiding. She could have chosen their houses.

 _“You accepted a teaching position here? A pity. I had hoped you would lend your strength to the Adrestian Empire,”_ Edelgard had said, in lieu of a greeting.

When she had the chance to speak with Edelgard one-on-one, something had clicked, and her choice became obvious.

 _“I see word spreads quickly,”_ Byleth had said.

 _“It’s the job of a house leader to be informed.”_ Edelgard had given a formal, polite smile. _“I must admit I was quite curious, too, about the woman who saved my life.”_

Edelgard had fulfilled her official duty of explaining the ins and outs of the Black Eagle house to Byleth, and even answered questions about the individuals she would be teaching should she lead the house. Although she had spoken with nothing but professionalism, Byleth could sense her urgency for her to choose the Black Eagles.

Once she finished meeting the other house leaders, she passed Edelgard again on her way back to see Rhea, and they wound up talking for a while about all sorts of topics, like Jeralt, and mercenary life, and growing up fighting.

Byleth would never compare her story to that of an heir to the throne. But without using words, they had expressed something to one another that they both share. Some secret, invisible barrier that prevents them from fully connecting with the people- especially the girls- around them.

In the present, Seteth speaks of a mock battle and introduces her to Flayn, but Byleth’s already thinking about the next time she can talk to Edelgard. Jeralt has always interpreted her, but Edelgard understands her.

* * *

If there’s one benefit of being an emotionless Ashen Demon, it’s not looking bored out of her skull as Hanneman gives a lengthy lecture (just for her!) about Crests.

She knows that they’re things that make you fight better. When she contributed that tidbit, he went on a tangent about if Crests largely being related to combat means the Goddess meant for us to be warfaring and -- oh, now he’s asking her something.

“Sorry, what was that?” She tries to pretend she was lost in contemplation, not daydreaming.

“I was wondering if I could use this device to determine your Crest.” Hanneman gestures to some type of glass screen where Byleth should put her hand. “First, I’ll need to gather some information.”

“Why’s that?”

Damn it, she fell right into his trap. His eye twinkles. “There’s no evidence that children are more or less likely to develop certain Crests based on gender or other factors, but developing demographic information may reveal future areas of study! Unless you’re uncomfortable, in which case I would be more than happy to simply have you scan your arm here without further ado.”

She hesitates. If she backs out now, he’ll be suspicious of her. Unlike Rhea, though, Manuela and Hanneman had immediately gendered her as female upon meeting her. And she had already trusted Manuela when she had to perform a physical to ensure her fitness to teach.

“What information do you need?”

He readies a parchment. “May I ask where you were born?”

“Don’t know.”

“Age…?”

“Not sure.”

“Gender?”

“Girl.”

“Great!” Hanneman writes that down.

“I think,” Byleth adds, and Hanneman looks like he’s repressing a groan. “I wasn’t born as a girl.”

“Oh, is that all?” Hanneman says. “Are you a girl, though?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” Hanneman writes down a bit more background information, runs the test, and finds out that her Crest can’t be determined.

She expects him to be upset, but on the contrary, he practically jumps for joy. “How thrilling! To think there are Crests out there that haven’t yet been discovered!” he says. “I’ll need time to study this. I must thank you again for your participation.”

“Is that all for now?”

Hanneman already looks lost in thought. The reveal hadn’t even phased him.

In retrospect, it hadn’t done much for Manuela, either. She had been more baffled by another mystery-- why Byleth doesn’t appear to have a beating heart.

* * *

In Byleth’s dreams, she’s standing before the throne again. Sothis puts an elbow on an armrest and looks down upon her.

“You’ve warmed up quite a bit to your students, have you not?” Sothis asks.

When Sothis appears before her in the real world, Byleth either answers by speaking or using directed thought. The former feels more natural, but failing that, Sothis reads the latter just as well.

Byleth hesitates. Being here feels strange-- like she’s floating in water. She keeps her feet anchored to the ground, afraid where she may float if she doesn’t.

Sothis doesn’t wait for her verbal answer. “You have. Good. They will serve you well in the trials to come,” she says. “It seems as if you’ve become accustomed to my power, too.”

The Divine Pulse. With everything else going on, Byleth hadn’t much time to question it.

“I must admit that I have as many questions as you, if not more. I fully expect you to keep an eye on the members of this monastery in order to find answers. They will prove beneficial for both of us.” A slight smile graces Sothis’ childish features.

Byleth manages to find words. “I’ll see if I can find time.”

“How rude!” Sothis snaps. She crosses her arms, pouting. “I’ve done so much to help you! Although…”

She returns to her lounging pose. “It’s unfortunately true that without you, I would be powerless. I owe you a great debt of gratitude. I shall try to repay it by working on the amount of times I can bestow my Divine Pulse ability.”

“Actually, there’s something else I want to ask you for.”

Sothis leans in like she’s trying to read Byleth’s mind. Byleth isn’t sure if it can be read when she’s not sure, herself. “Go on,” Sothis says. “Out with it.”

“You’re the first female friend I’ve had,” Byleth starts. The first friend at all, really.

Felize, Grace, and some of the other women who work in Jeralt’s mercenary company feel more like Jeralt’s friends than hers. And even though she’s close to her students, there’s a certain professionalism that keeps her from asking them for help as if they were peers.

“Friend.” Sothis mulls the word over, amused. She looks amused, like a cat swishing its tail before it pounces. “Hmph. I shall not comment on the nature of our partnership, lest you stop telling me your request. Continue.”

“How much do you know about…” Byleth stumbles for the word. “Beauty?”

Sothis blinks.

“Beauty,” she confirms, as if unsure she- who can read Byleth’s thoughts- misheard her.

Byleth nods.

She crosses her legs, stroking her chin. It’s a challenge she didn’t expect, but one she doesn’t seem unwilling to accept. “I may seem juvenile to you, but I have… memories. Family and friends who are now faceless to me, brushing my hair, decorating me with jewelry and fine silks. I recall looking in the mirror, and although I cannot see the reflection, I know that I smiled at the time.”

Byleth’s face twists into a frown. “If you wish to become more beautiful, I haven’t any sort of power to bestow upon you. The Divine Pulse cannot reverse aging.”

“That’s not what I mean. I want your opinions and advice, not power.” It feels strange to look up at this supposed chid and ask, but with how she carries herself, she’s honestly not sure how old Sothis could be.

“Opinions and advice. Like that of a friend. For hairstyling and such things.”

“Yes.”

“In exchange for you to go out of your way to find answers for me, whether that entails questioning key members of the monastery or leading charge into battle.”

“Yes.”

Sothis bursts out laughing.

“Fate is strange to bring us together in this way,” Sothis says, calming back down. “I recall awakening here. You were the first thing I saw, but you were unclear, as if lost in the mist. I asked to see your form.”

Byleth remembers it, too. It had felt like she stood before a mirror that reflected a world parallel to this one, where she stood as a man. Perhaps it was a world where she had never been true to herself, or perhaps a world where her path was to be walked in the opposite direction. It felt as if it had happened before going to the Monastery- when she had already revealed herself as a woman- and yet it felt timeless, as if this event had always happened and always would happen.

When Cerrik had drawn his blade against her, she remembers now. She had not been able to truly cast _Fire_ yet. It’s just that she recalled choosing her form, and it gave her strength to push through.

“You are someone truly special,” Sothis says, a smile on her face. The praise surprises Byleth, but it isn’t unwelcome. “Someone who challenges the path of fate to reach her full potential, even if it involves changing her own form… Like the Goddess.”

“The Goddess?”

Sothis shakes her head, the smile fading from her eyes. “I’m afraid if you want more answers, I am unable to provide them at this time. There is one thing I’m certain of, and that is… you are much more than a mere mortal. I’ll be happy to lend you my aid… ‘friend’.”

* * *

It takes the potentially-time-traveling ghost child about two days to regret the entire conversation.

“For the last time!” Sothis yells. Nobody else can hear. “The Divine Pulse is meant to undo a mortal wound, or to turn the tides of battle in one critical moment! It is **not** for you to undo a mistake on your eyeliner!”

“This is harder than fighting. I need the Divine Pulse now.”

Sothis throws her hands in the air. “Honestly! When someone dear to you lies dying in your arms, at least your makeup will be beautiful to console them in their final moments!”

She huffs a lot for someone who doesn’t seem to breathe. She maintains the act for a moment before her powerful urge to criticize takes over her pride. “No, no. You are using too many heavy brushstrokes and smearing the makeup. Try it like this.”

Sothis can’t exactly possess Byleth, but she feels a tingling as if her hand falls asleep when Sothis grips it. Her undead child-but-not-really pal helps her finish her eyeliner perfectly.

“There. You truly did need my help, did you not?”

Byleth admittedly had to water down a lot of Sothis’s style suggestions. They involved elaborate hair braiding, golden accessories she couldn’t afford to blow her monthly budget on, and fashion choices that even Jeralt would think were old-fashioned. Meeting somewhere in the middle has satisfied them both.

“You do realize that you are female without all this devotion to appearance, correct?” Sothis asks, leaning back and floating in midair as if she were in a hammock. “Why the sudden interest?”

She looks at her reflection. If this were some type of drama, she would be aglow with a pink blush. She’s not sure that’s possible with her unmoving heart.

Byleth settles on half of the truth. “I know it’s not required, but I like the way it makes me feel.”

“It’s Edelgard, isn’t it?”

It’s hard having a roommate in your brain who reads your thoughts like a diary that was left open. Byleth would side-eye Sothis, but she has no reflection in the mirror. Byleth turns around to show her disapproving look. Sothis has a smirk on her face.

“She inspires me,” Byleth says. “She radiates both elegance and power, and she devotes so much attention to her hair.”

“Sure. Her hair. That’s what you’re paying attention to.”

“This conversation is inappropriate.” Byleth puts her beauty products away. “Regardless of strange feelings, she is my student and I would never take advantage of her trust.” She strides out of the room.

“She will not be a student forever!” Sothis calls after her.

* * *

_“Come to the classroom.”_

Byleth hadn’t been sure what she was expecting when Edelgard invited her, promptly walking off without further explanation. Sothis’s teasing had been still fresh in her mind.

So when she had entered the Black Eagles classroom, the last thing she expected was for all the students to jump out at her.

“Happy birthday!” They cheer in unison. Even Bernadetta, who’s clearly been dragged out of her room kicking and screaming, has a present in hand.

Byleth blinks and looks behind her. Edelgard pinches the bridge of her nose. “My teacher, this-- this celebration is for you.”

“For me?” she says. Oh, it _is_ that day. “I’ve never celebrated it.”

Back in the mercenary days, Jeralt would bring her some fresh wild game or some toy he bought during a trip to the city. The real gift she had wanted was to spend time with him, but that couldn’t always be arranged.

Now, looking around at all her beloved students with smiles on their faces, it takes her a moment to realize they’re piling presents on her desk _for her_. She had been happy just with their presence.

There’s some strange visceral sensation overtaking her. It’s like she’s standing in the sun during a clear summer day, but that warmth spreads through her chest and stomach. It’s like she wants to take all the students into her arms and hug all of them.

Edelgard catches her eye and smiles. “You deserve to celebrate it, Professor. You mean so much to us. Happy birthday.”

 _Professor_. She likes that moniker. Jeralt had called her by her name or, affectionately, ‘kid’. Some of the mercs used ‘little boss’, when they- and their enemies- weren’t calling her the Ashen Demon.

And Edelgard has another she uses: _my teacher._ It’s Byleth’s favorite.

Hubert gifts her several types of tea that Lady Edelgard likes (which, for some reason, makes Edelgard flustered). The fact that he seems to encourage her to share it with Edelgard is the only assurance Byleth has that it’s not poisoned.

On a similar note, Ferdinand gave her coffee beans from Embarr. Lindhart had given her new books. Caspar, a hunting dagger; Bernadetta, fresh flowers she had grown; Dorothea, a variety of dresses she had worn in the opera; Petra, an entire side of caribou that she had personally hunted.

Edelgard hands over her present- a small box- with her cheeks tinted pink. She opens the box to find a small pendant. The insignia of the Black Eagles hangs from a silver chain. The item has to be hand-crafted.

“I had this work commissioned for you. I hope it’s to your taste,” Edelgard says, with her usual refinery. Despite that, she shifts her weight on her feet. The longer Byleth goes without responding, the more nervous she gets. “If it is an inappropriate present, I would offer my sincerest apologies--”

She’s cut short by the embrace. Byleth holds the girl close. “Thank you. I’ll treasure this always.”

Edelgard hangs limply from her arms as if she’s not sure what to do. Then, tentatively, she returns the embrace. The other students join in. They’re warm, gentle, and Byleth knows she made the right choice in choosing the Black Eagles.

She may not be able to feel her heartbeat, but she can feel all of theirs.

* * *

The birthday celebration quickly takes to the cafeteria to cook the still-raw caribou. Students from other Houses, especially ones she’s helped with tasks and returned lost items to, pass on their birthday wishes and even join the celebration.

Alois had been the first faculty to join in, lifting her up onto his shoulders and singing. Manuela had taken the occasion to open a bottle of champagne, which Hanneman scolded her for drinking in front of the students. Seteth stood in the corner, observing everything with his usual sternness.

Byleth adores it, but she’s far from used to all the attention. Growing up a shadow, she’s used to disappearing when cast into the light. Somehow, the house leaders are having an eating competition, and Byleth takes the opportunity to slip out the back door.

The mid-evening sky has revealed glowing stars behind the orange tones. Byleth drinks in the fresh air, leaning on the railing. Something compels her to look to the side. Sothis floats next to her.

“Is it improper of me to say, ‘I told you so’?” Sothis asks.

Byleth touches the pendant hanging around her neck. She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m just…”

The realization hits her like a warhammer straight to the head.

“... happy?” Byleth says.

Sothis smiles. “Happy birthday, Byleth.”

“Happy birthday to you, too.”

Byleth reaches out to squeeze her translucent ghost hand. It’s something of an empty gesture, but Sothis squeezes her hand as if she’s returning it.

“We do share the same date of birth. Yet, I cannot recall ever celebrating a birthday,” Sothis says, her voice falling quiet.

“This celebration is just as much for you,” Byleth says. “We’re bound together, and I’m only alive because of your ability. This is a celebration for you, too.”

She snorts. “I appreciate the attempt. I feel no sorrow at being forgotten.”

Sothis isn’t a great liar.

“If you say so.” Byleth taps her fingernails on the railing. “I’m sorry I have nothing for you as a gift.”

“Excuse the sentimentality, but…” Sothis stares up at the stars. “To be able to experience this is a gift in itself. It’s painful that I cannot truly know the students, and they cannot know me. Even so, I… enjoy this time we’ve spent together as partners.”

“Friends, even,” Byleth says.

“Sure.” Sothis looks behind her. “Someone’s coming.”

Byleth would recognize those heavy footsteps anywhere. The deep voice follows. “Who knew that Edelgard girl could pack so much food away. And Claude thinks we didn’t notice he was slipping his plate to the dog under the table,” Jeralt grumbles. “Were you talking to someone, kid?”

“A friend. But, they’ve left.” She redirects before Jeralt asks more questions. “Sounds like everyone’s having fun in there.”

“Seems like it.” His lips purse. “I thought I’d find you out here. You aren’t used to celebrations, huh?”

“I was never old enough to join you and the others in the taverns when you were celebrating,” Byleth adds, nonchalantly.

Jeralt takes Sothis’s place, putting his arms on the railing. “I wish I could have set up this kind of thing for you when you were growing up. Maybe I would have been able to see your smile back then.”

Byleth puts her hand to her face. She is smiling, actually.

She hugs her father. Today’s a day for embraces, it seems. “I’m just glad to have you.”

He chuckles. “Same here, kid.”

They fall into one of their comfortable silences. Jeralt speaks up again first. “We haven’t gone fishing in forever. How would you feel about arranging a trip tomorrow morning?”

“I would enjoy that.” Byleth recognizes that she really, really would.

“I’ll be at your door before the crack of dawn. Don’t stay up partying all night, now,” Jeralt says. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to move on before Alois or Manuela catches up with me.”

“I’ll send them off your trail if I see them.”

“Thanks, kid. Happy birthday. Tell your friend I said hi.”

* * *

The knock on the door at 4 AM doesn’t wake Byleth up. On the contrary, she had already been awake.

She shoves the ungraded assignments aside and desperately tries to get into the mindset of someone who slept at least an hour last night. She did _not_ stay up celebrating what felt like her first birthday, and Sothis was _not_ mumbling “I told you so”. Definitely.

Jeralt stands outside her door. “Ready?”

Byleth nods. She’s already dressed in heavy boots and a warm wool covering. She grabs her fishing supplies by the door. It’s not like the days when they would wade knee-deep in the marshes for smallmouth bass; they’re going to just be on the dock.

But also, Jeralt’s wearing a matching outfit and massive boots. Some things never change. When Byleth was a kid, she could stand in one of those boots like it were a barrel. The memory makes her feel warm.

It makes her feel happy. She can identify that, now.

They stroll toward the dock. The monastery belongs to them before sunrise. The students are sleeping, the priests are in prayer, and the teachers are preparing for the day. Byleth waves to the familiar knights standing guard. She wonders how a certain gatekeeper is doing.

The monastery’s cats stroll from the alleys, keeping an eye on them both. They’ve come to realize that Byleth will give them some of her fish. She never had a proper pet. It was dangerous to get too attached to the horses, lest they fell in battle, and she always admired wildlife from a safe distance only. If there’s one thing she misses about Remire Village, it’s spying deer eating berries in the morning light.

Once they reach the fishing pond, Jeralt spears a worm on his fishhook and tosses out his line. Byleth does the same. Sothis either has stayed in the dorm- she can stay anchored there, apparently- or has returned to the back of Byleth’s mind to rest.

Sothis couldn’t remember if she had a family. Byleth had always been grateful for what she had, even on the myriad days when she and Jeralt couldn’t spend any time together at all.

The periods of his absence had made her wonder what it would be like to have a mother. She had a clear image of her mother in her mind: a graceful, powerful woman who would be Jeralt’s equal on the battlefield. Whenever the topic of her mother came up, Jeralt had gotten quieter than usual and said she was a wonderful woman.

Soon, Byleth had realized that her vision of her mother was actually just the woman _she_ wanted to be. The type of woman others are starting to see her as.

An hour or two into their fishing session, Jeralt breaks the silence. “This is nice. It’s been a while since we had time, just you and me.”

“It has been.” Between teaching, battling, conducting seminars, undergoing faculty training, hosting tea parties, returning lost items, and learning the ins and outs of proper femininity from her ghost-child friend, Byleth has barely had time to sleep. It’s similar for Jeralt, but probably without the ghost-child stuff.

The horizon shines with the faintest hints of pink. Byleth can still see the moon, still hear crickets singing their song. Her cheeks sting with the brisk morning breeze. The stink of the bait and fish overpowers the rest, but somehow, she can always catch a whiff of her father’s scent-- pine needles that mysteriously aren’t overpowered by alcohol.

In the moment, she takes these details for granted. Looking back onto the scene in her memories, when those are all she has left, she would hang on to every detail.

“You look happier these days,” Jeralt says.

She looks over at him. Wrinkles mar his forehead like chasms carved from worry. If she squints, she can see laugh lines that are much fainter.

“Really?”

“Really,” he confirms. “Maybe it’s just my perspective, but you’re less closed off. You’re using your voice more and smiling more. I feel like you’re able to really be yourself. I thought coming here would be a nightmare, but it’s helping you grow into the amazing woman you’re becoming.”

“I owe it to my students.” The pendant hangs around her neck even now, but it’s tucked under her clothes so it doesn’t get lost or dirty.

He chuckles. “They seem like a good bunch. A bunch of unruly noble brats, but you keep them in line.”

“I learned from the best,” she replies. “Dealing with them isn’t as bad as rounding up Cerrik and Ahron after a night at the tavern.”

“Good grief, don’t remind me.” He holds back his laugh; the last thing they need is to scare the fish with a loud guffaw. Not that any fish have bitten so far. “I guess wrangling those rugrats is nothing when you’ve grown up around my mess of a company.”

She hums in response. Unable to accompany the Knights on official missions, several of Jeralt’s mercenaries have accepted a battalion position. When Byleth leads them, she feels as if she’s standing in one of Jeralt’s massive boots again.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m proud of you, kid,” Jeralt says.

“You’re not smiling.”

“... Guess I’m not.” He touches his cheek. “Never thought you’d be reading my emotions so well.”

She shrugs. “I know you. Plus, reading my students helps me tell when they’re about to fall asleep in my class.” Mostly Linhardt.

Whenever Jeralt speaks, his voice comes off as a low rumble. It’s like thunder with how it can roar and boom, but when he’s gentle, the low crackle can lull Byleth to sleep.

This time, though, his voice comes out strained. “You’re her splitting image.”

They’ve been sitting side-by-side on the dock. Even now, he stares intently at the water, face carved like stone. Byleth doesn’t have to ask who the ‘her’ refers to. She opens her mouth, but no words come out.

“One of my biggest regrets is not telling you more about your mother.” He takes a breath, forces his voice to level off. “Every time it came up, no matter how much time had passed, the wound felt fresh. I told myself that I would wait for you to ask, but of course you never did.”

She hadn’t been able to. It had never been the right time, and she never had the voice to ask the question.

Byleth’s reflection stares back at her in the water. She doesn’t understand what she’s feeling, herself.

“She would have been so, so proud of you,” Jeralt says. “The only reason I have any common sense is because she drilled it into me. I wish she could have been here instead of me.”

His voice doesn’t sound broken, like she expected it to. It’s more like she never noticed that he hadn’t been whole all this time.

“If she were here,” he adds, “she could have taught you about being a woman.”

“It’s not about learning how to be a woman. There’s no right or wrong way to be one.” Refined like Edelgard, demure like Bernadetta, graceful like Dorothea, self-sufficient like Petra-- for some students, their similarities end at their gender. “You taught me how to be a good _person_. For that, I couldn’t be more grateful.”

“Byleth…”

“It’s hard for me to miss my mother. I’ve never known just what to miss,” Byleth says. She puts her pole down and tentatively puts an arm around his shoulders. “I wish she could have been here, but regardless, I was always grateful for you. You are someone who could understand me, even when I couldn’t express myself.”

“It…” He takes a shaky breath. “It means a lot, kid.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Byleth.”

He puts his arm around her shoulder, too. The fish aren’t biting, anyway.

Byleth speaks first. “I want to know more about her whenever you’re ready to tell me.”

He’s silent for so long that she thinks she made a mistake, but then he finally responds. “There’s so much I want to tell you. I’m not sure where to start.”

“Anywhere.”

There’s a pregnant pause. She leans in, unsure what meaningful detail he will reveal first.

“She hated alcohol.”

She laughs so hard that she snorts, fish be damned if it scares them away.

“So which love of yours took precedence?”

“My love for her, of course. The love of drink… grew stronger afterward. Don’t be like me, by the way. It’s no damn way to grieve.” He sighs. “But that’s another story. She always was in frail health. She hadn’t been able to see much of the world because of it, so she loved hearing all my stories.”

“Even the one with the missing horseshoe and the drunk bandit?”

It’s his turn to laugh loudly. “I told you to _never_ bring up that story again,” he says. “Actually, I take it back. Use it to mock Alois. He turns as red as a tomato.”

She stores this information away for future use. He has more minor stories to share: she loved flowers. She loved to read. She struggled to express herself, but she hummed when she was happy. Jeralt still hums the tune today.

By now, the sun has begun to come up. Early-rising students and monastery staff have begun to mill about. The din of shopkeepers provides a backdrop to their chatter.

“Looks like our fishing trip’s a bust,” Jeralt says.

“I’m blaming the bait,” Byleth says. “Can I hear more stories?”

“I’ve got to report in for duty.” He rubs his temples. “How about after that White Heron thing? Things should quiet down by then.”

“Okay. I’ll look forward to it.”

She would love to wrap this up, put a bow on it, make it a cherished happy memory. They would go their separate ways. But one question tugs at her.

“Dad?”

“Huh?”

She pulls him aside.

“Did my mother know I don’t have a heartbeat?”

Jeralt reacts as if he’s lived his life with a dagger in his back that she just yanked free.

“Father?” she asks.

When she was young, she had noticed the chest scar. He said she got it when she was a toddler. She had allegedly tripped while learning how to walk. Since then, Byleth never thought about it.

“I’m sorry. That’s not something we can talk about. Not here. Not now.” He looks around, worried. “Soon, okay? And remember that if anything happens to me, search through my personal quarters.”

“Don’t sound so… ominous.”

“Sorry, I have a few more ominous lines in my system.” He tries to smile, but he can’t. “Don’t trust anyone in the monastery, and don’t trust Rhea. Understand?”

“But--”

“Do you _understand_ , Byleth?”

“I understand.”

When he hugs her, his chest presses the concealed Black Eagles pendant against her scar.

* * *

Jeralt always said he hates making promises. Promise to teach Leonie the ins and outs of mercenary life, and now she’s asking him questions during his only breaks. Promise to rejoin the Knights, and now his honor prevents him from riding off on horseback and hopping the border into Almyra.

He had explained that a broken promise causes more pain than any wound from battle. There had been times when his promise to protect a town he’s staying in would fail because, as soon as his company would move on, thieves would overrun the place. Soon, Jeralt’s only promise is to Byleth.

When Edelgard asks her to return to the Monastery in 5 years, even if she may no longer teach there, Byleth doesn’t hesitate to promise. She’s not her father. She has mentally pledged already to follow her students to the end of the planet, even if the rest of the world would stand against them.

On the eve of the grand ball, Edelgard approaches her again.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

Byleth turns to Edelgard. The moonlight casts an ethereal shimmer on her pale skin. Up on the Goddess Tower, it feels like they’re the only two in the world.

“I was waiting for you.”

“For me?” She doesn’t seem surprised, but rather, relieved. “You should have summoned me sooner. Regardless, here I am.”

“Has something happened?”

“No, nothing in particular. In fact, that's why I came here.” Edelgard crosses her arms gently.

She tells the story of how her father attended the Officers Academy and met her mother at the Goddess Tower, falling in love with her at first sight. Byleth chews on her inner lip. It resembles their current situation.

“It was the first time either had been truly in love,” Edelgard concludes,” or so the story goes.”

“Their first love?”

She nods. “Yes. Of course, as emperor, my father had already married for political reasons. As the Empire demands many heirs, he also had numerous other lovers.”

A strange look passes over her face. “... In the end, my mother settled for becoming one of his many consorts. But I choose to believe there was genuine love between them.” Perhaps she’s hopeful. “I suppose it’s a silly story to begin with…”

Byleth feels like she’s leading a blind charge. “Who was your first true love?”

The air feels thick. Edelgard smiles. “For some reason, I feel compelled to tell you all of these things I have kept hidden. I can't say the name, but she was a noble who I met in the Kingdom, a lifetime ago.”

“ _She_?”

Edelgard realizes her mistake. She flinches. “Yes. It had been a woman. If this makes you uncomfortable, I can go.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

She hesitates. “Very well.”

Edelgard turns her head out of embarrassment. “Anyway... What about you? It's your turn to reveal some long-held secret! You can share a story about your past...or perhaps tell me about your first love.”

She stares down at her shoes. “I have no such stories.”

“You realize that just makes me more curious than ever!” Edelgard says. These rare hints of interest and enthusiasm breaking through the perfect mask just make Byleth want to tell it all.

“I have never been in love,” Byleth reveals. Confessing her inexperience, it feels like she’s the child and Edelgard is the teacher. “There has never been time nor interest in that kind of bond.”

“I see.” Edelgard releases a breath. Why had she been holding it? “I understand that well. You seem to have been diligent with your training and working with your father as a mercenary. It would leave little time for romantic pursuits.”

“No, it’s…” It’s half-true. Byleth threw herself into her training _because_ she had no friends; she didn’t have no friends because of how much she trained.

Back then, she had much less practice in being herself. She didn’t know how to show emotion because she felt like a husk of a boy. She would have no capacity for crushes-- when Jeralt assumed she had a crush on Felize because she followed her around, it had actually been because Byleth had been envious of her.

But Edelgard is her student. It would be improper to complain about being seen as a demon for so many years, no matter how Edelgard may plead.

Byleth finishes her thought. For some reason, she wants to give Edelgard at least a partial explanation. Revealing it now feels scarier than when she was staring down the business end of Cerrik’s blade, though.

“Until several years before I came to this monastery, I was seen as, and lived as, a boy. It was not my true form, but rather, the one I was given.”

The world stands still. The distance between them seems to grow greater and greater. If Edelgard were to walk away, Byleth would understand why it’s too painful for Jeralt to make promises.

Instead, Edelgard smiles.

“Professor, if I may… Have you ever heard the tale of the two princes?”

“I have not.”

“The story goes as follows. There once were two princes: one of a mighty empire with ancient history, one of a kingdom known for its chivalry and bitter cold. The Adrestian Prince’s mother was the Faerghus Prince’s stepmother. The two didn’t know of one another until the Adrestian Prince happened to meet him while in exile. From there, they became fast friends.”

Edelgard looks past Byleth as she continues. “It’s said that the Adrestian Prince taught the other how to dance during that one year of exile. I tend to think of this story on nights such as this.”

“It sounds like a story close to your heart.”

“Perhaps you could say that.”

Byleth takes in the information. One of the reasons she felt connected to Edelgard’s loneliness becomes clear.

“Then… you’re…”

“The Adrestian Princess, Edelgard von Hresvelg,” she concludes. “That is the identity I have forged. Those who knew me in the past…” She lowers her head, shadows falling across her face. “I doubt they even recognize me.”

Subconsciously, Byleth finds herself looking for prying eyes and ears. She doesn’t doubt that Hubert is close by, but he’s not the one that her father warned not to trust.

“It may not be too late to reconnect,” Byleth says.

“Too much has happened.” She shakes her head. “There’s more than one reason I’m unrecognizable to older friends, now.”

Byleth isn’t sure what to say. She never had anyone to lose.

“I should avoid keeping you too long,” Edelgard says, suddenly self-conscious. “There must be plenty of students who want to talk with you, and dance with you.”

“We haven’t danced together yet, Edelgard.”

She scoffs lightly. “There is no need to offer me a pity dance out of sympathy.”

“Let’s call it empathy, then,” Byleth says. She holds out her hand. “It’s not an order from your Professor. I won’t force you to. I’m simply asking.”

After a moment, Edelgard takes Byleth’s hand. “Let us return to the ball together, then, my teacher.”

* * *

By the time the month’s mission comes, Byleth’s feet still feel as if they’re floating from her dance. She meets Jeralt to investigate the chapel, a smile still on her face.

News quickly turns grim. Alois reports that a number of students had entered moments prior to the Demonic Beasts appearing. The students had been acting strange, as if not in their right mind.

Byleth and Jeralt exchange a pointed look.

“There’s no way the Demonic Beasts got in from outside,” Jeralt says, his face grave. “None of that matters now. Summon your students.”

“At once.”

“Damn it,” he mutters, as she turns to rouse the Black Eagles. “I wanted to talk to you about something important, but there’s no time. There’s never any damn time.”

Subconsciously, she touches her hand to her chest. “We’ll find time after. This is our priority.”

“Of course. Don’t waste time listening to a babbling old man. Hurry!”

* * *

Throughout the battle, her mind wanders. Byleth takes advantage of the Divine Pulse to undo sloppy mistakes she wouldn’t make otherwise.

Jeralt fighting by her side should inspire her to fight at her hardest and show him how much she’s grown. At the same time, something feels off. It’s the same itching sensation she had when rescuing Flayn from the Death Knight.

It’s not long before the beasts are routed and the students are saved. Byleth and Jeralt search the rubble. “There isn’t a trace of evidence to be found here,” he mutters. “It must have something to do with Remire. Perhaps…”

Just remembering the experiments performed in Remire send a chill down her spine. If fate had spun its thread differently, would she have wound up the same way? Would her father have?

He’s wandered away while she was lost in thought. Suddenly, he speaks up. “Huh? Another student?”

Monica van Ochs emerges from the Chapel, completely unharmed. The other students had been at least a little scraped up, but she hasn’t a hair out of place.

“Run along, now,” he says, turning his attention to more important matters.

“Thanks for all your help, sir!”

She motions as if to skip away, running behind him. He lets out a small laugh.

Monica sinks a dagger into Jeralt’s back.

“You’re just a pathetic old man,” she says- seemingly both amused and disappointed- as the mighty Blade Breaker gasps for air.

Jeralt falls forward onto his knees. Monica draws back her black dagger, dripping red. “How dare you get in the way of my brilliant plan, you d _o g--”_

The Divine Pulse pounds in Byleth’s ears. Reality flashes before her and twists to her will. She can undo this, she can save him, but the memory of his agony has seared into her mind.

The hands on the clock move backwards. The seconds count back. Byleth draws her blade.

“Thanks for all your help, sir!” Monica chirps.

She motions as if to skip away, running behind him. He lets out a small laugh.

Byleth charges and swings the Sword of the Creator. It extends like a whip toward Monica as she reaches for her dagger. It never meets its target; a mage appears to block it with a barrier.

A moment later, the sickening sound of the dagger entering her father’s back, followed by the heavy thump of him falling to his knees.

“You must survive,” the mage says to Monica. “There is still a role that I require you to fulfill.”

The duo vanish before Byleth can react. She’s not sure she’s even processed his words, or the fact that Monica betrayed them. All she can focus on is her father. The Sword of the Creator clatters to the ground as she sprints to his side.

She can take him to Manuela at once. She can have Linhardt and Flayn cast their strongest healing spells. She can pour Elixir after Elixir down his throat. He’s made it through worse than this.

Just one look up close at the wound snuffs out her hope like a candle. The dagger that Monica used had been abnormal, laced with magic. Jeralt’s rapidly going pale.

She holds him in her arms, the world spinning around her. He opens his eyes, faintly, and she thinks there may yet be hope.

“Sorry…” He winces, as if just speaking causes immeasurable pain. “It looks like… I’m going to have to leave you now.”

A teardrop lands on his cheek. Then another. He opens his eyes again. “To think that the first time I saw you cry… your tears would be for me.”

Byleth realizes she’s crying. She can’t remember having cried. It’s like a dam has burst, sent torrents surging through cracked and barren riverbeds.

“It’s sad,” he says, “and yet… I’m happy for it.”

In his last moments, he smiles.

A storm starts around them. No thunder to be heard, just a deluge, as if the heavens have parted to shed tears as well. Byleth hugs Jeralt’s body. Letting it go cold feels wrong. But how warm can she really keep him? She barely has a pulse. Her heart isn’t beating.

Byleth sobs into his chest.

* * *

Her name had been Sitri.

A nun of the monastery, she and Jeralt had fallen in love. They had a child. Both of them had been over the moon with joy, but Jeralt had written his worries about Sitri’s bad health.

Jeralt had always been a concise type of person, but after Sitri’s death, his diary entries became terse and withdrawn. He notes that Rhea claims Sitri died during childbirth. He couldn’t believe it was the full truth. The child, Byleth, had no heartbeat; the baby also didn’t cry, didn’t laugh.

And then he lit a fire and fled with Byleth. Suddenly, it clicks why Rhea had been so confused but intrigued by her presence when they first met. She thought Jeralt had a son.

The students come sporadically to comfort her. Edelgard is first, encouraging her to stand and bring justice to those responsible. The others offer similar calls for justice or words of comfort.

Byleth barely hears any of them. Her face remains stone cold, impassive, clutching the diary to her chest.

Sothis says little, but she sits close to Byleth in silence for hours at a time. The tears have stopped flowing. Sothis doesn’t make any quips; she only gets stern when she forces Byleth to eat and take care of herself, for both of their sakes.

Manuela confirms the wound had been abnormal. The metal of the dagger that killed him hadn’t been of this world. It does little to comfort her. It _does_ spark something in her hollow chest, something that she can’t yet identify.

She finds Sitri’s wedding ring. Jeralt had meant for her to have it to give to someone she loves. She can’t bear the thought of love right now. What could be the point of opening her dead heart to someone only to lose them, too?

After a month that Sothis drags her through like an unwieldy marionette, Edelgard approaches her again. She doesn’t offer a greeting.

“The archbishop is gathering the knights to begin a search,” she says. “She’s doing so in secret, behind our backs. She must be afraid that a thirst for revenge would compel you to seek them out.”

That _something_ inside Byleth’s chest roars.

“Now that you know, will you give us the order?” Edelgard says. It’s not a question.

Jeralt had been right that the eyes and ears of the church are never far. Rhea descends upon them. “I will not allow it.”

Seteth, diligent as ever, backs her up. “It is all too likely our foes revealed themselves to lure you out. They took Jeralt from you. I know how you despise them, but you must hold back your personal feelings for now.”

“You can’t stop me.”

He takes a step backward. Something pumps fury through Byleth’s veins. The whole damn monastery could stand in front of her and they couldn’t stop her.

And they won’t. Rhea’s eyes have widened. She doesn’t reject Byleth’s defiance-- she looks like she’s gazing upon an old friend. She gives the order.

* * *

Thunder explodes in the battlefield. Byleth readies the Sword of the Creator and slices through the enemy troops. The supernova of magic fells the trees and singes the grass. Monica **will** know she’s coming.

Edelgard barks out orders to the students and their battalions. She’s experienced enough to act as an interim tactician. Byleth tends to stay back and offer support, let her students shine; today, she’s a force of nature.

Monica- or Kronya, as she tries to announce herself to be- has too many words to say. Byleth doesn’t give her the satisfaction of an explanation. She’ll wring the truth from her neck with her own two hands.

That _something- **indignation-** _in her chest travels to her fingertips, into the Sword of the Creator. The blade glows with energy as she strikes Kronya down.

Kronya curses. She reaches for her dagger. Byleth kicks it into the dirt. She steps on Kronya’s chest, pinning her to the ground.

“H-how could I lose to a lowly _creature_ like you?” She spits the word out in a way that Byleth has heard too many times-- the same way others called her the ‘Ashen Demon’.

Byleth raises the Sword of the Creator. The flames burning in her eyes shroud her blade.

“Execute me,” Kronya hisses. “Go ahead, you pathetic church lapdog. Put me down just like your beloved Rhea would.”

Byleth grits her teeth with a burning _hate_ that’s new to her. Her hands grip the hilt of her blade tight. Kronya squeezes her eyes shut in anticipation. Byleth roars and drives the sword down into the stone next to Kronya’s head.

Kronya’s eyes flicker open. Byleth’s arms are shaking; her teeth grind together so hard that they sound like stones in her mouth.

“Can’t do it, huh?” Kronya laughs weakly.

A presence appears behind them. Solon looks down at her. A shred of hope appears in her eyes.

“Hey. I need your help.”

“You most certainly do.”

While Byleth tries to regain her balance, Solon lifts Kronya by the throat and stabs her in the heart.

Kronya shivers as darkness floods from her body and shrouds the battlefield. She whimpers and cries like she were just a child in over her head. In her final moments, she begs for help.

Byleth stands as if frozen in time. The shadows rise like a torrent and swallow her whole.

* * *

Darkness.

She’s in front of Sothis’s throne, but the air is different. She’s not floating in water; she’s being crushed at the ocean’s floor. Even Sothis looks nervous.

“What were you thinking, charging right into an enemy's trap? Are you just a boulder that rolls down whatever hill it's on? No, even a boulder has more sense!”

She manages to speak. “I’m sorry.” It sounds meek, childish.

Edelgard had been right. If she had any resolve- if she hadn’t let her desire for vengeance take her- she could have done something. She could have stopped Solon, or saved Kronya, or even escaped before the darkness took her.

“Apologizing won't make things right!” She whines. She sounds just as childish and afraid. “This darkness is terrifying!”

Sothis regains her composure, at least for a moment. “As you and I are one... I, too, am trapped within this void. But please consider this... This realm of darkness we are in is seperate from the world from which you came. I mean that it would take a god to leave this place. In time, our hearts and minds will cease to be.”

She leans forward. “Are you prepared to die?”

Byleth stares directly at Sothis. For the past moon, she’s felt as if she’s ready to die. In these last few hours, she’s felt as if she’s lived to kill. A true demon.

Now? She wants to see her students one more time: to apologize, and to thank them, if nothing else. She wants to see Edelgard again.

“I am not,” Byleth says.

“I thought as much. I also do not wish to die.” Sothis sighs. “And yet… there is no other choice.”

“What choice?” Byleth asks. To die?

“Do you recall your father's diary? He said you were a child who never cried nor laughed. I think I am the one to blame. I must have been asleep, but even then, I feel I was a part of you.”

Sothis presses a hand to her chest. “I do not know how Rhea managed it, but she allowed me to exist inside of you. The truth is I have always been with you. It is within you that I found my power yet again. The power of a goddess. The power of the progenitor god.”

Byleth can’t speak. She stares forward at her friend-- the goddess of Fodlan.

“My name is Sothis. By now you must be well aware of what that means. I am the one who watches over Fódlan and the creatures dwelling there. I am Sothis, she who died then returned.”

“Somehow, I knew it to be true.”

“I may yet save us from this darkness of eternity, but I will use the power of a god. However, I lack a body of my own. And so, I must relinquish all the power that I have...to you. The time has come for you and I to join as one. And when that comes to pass...then I shall disappear.”

“Disappear?” Byleth asks.

No. No no no. She’s lost too much. There has to be another way. And yet, the oppressive void stretches endlessly before them.

“When I say disappear, I do not mean that all I am will be no more. My soul will join with yours, and you and I will never be apart. But...I will no longer have a chance to speak with you. I shall miss it. I have been able to see and hear this world through you.”

“Sothis…”

“Byleth.”

“You’re my first friend. I… I don’t want you to go.”

Sothis manages to smile. “What a strange person you are, to consider the goddess revered by all to be your ‘friend’.”

“My feelings haven’t changed since before I knew your truth. You’ve helped me in ways besides lending me your power. I’ll miss you.”

“I will miss you too… friend.” Sothis rises. “I am lucky to have been bound to you. No… I think, perhaps, it was inevitable.”

“How so?”

“It may yet be that Rhea managed to intertwine our fates in a way even I cannot understand. If that were so, I do not know why my awakening could not have occurred sooner. I cannot believe it is random chance that I awoke within you.”

Sothis descends the steps. She’s so much shorter, standing in front of Byleth. “I believe the answer is you, Byleth. I could not have had this awakening in any other vessel. You are the one who has the form of a goddess.”

She wishes she could say something profound. No words come. Sothis smiles as if she’s at peace.

“No need for words. I know your heart as though it were my own.” She approaches closer. “Now, let us pray. For if we share this wish, our spirits two will join as one.”

Light blossoms from her chest.

“Your will and mine are now as one.

Both sides of time are revealed to you, and you alone.

You know that I am the Beginning. What will you do?”

Whatever it takes to keep her promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldnt stop imagining this as jeralt and byleth: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/38/5c/57/385c57349843bbfd9c26eb55631162d7.jpg


	3. anathema

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to increase the number of chapters from 3 to 4. The initial chapter 3 was getting too long.
> 
> WARNING: There's some transphobic dialogue from Rhea in this chapter. Alcohol is used in this chapter, but not abused

Three things that change after Byleth fuses with Sothis:

1\. She has green hair like Rhea’s.

2\. Rhea dresses her up in holy regalia and calls her the ‘Enlightened One’.

3\. Nobody sits with her in silence while she spirals into despair.

Looking in the mirror feels like desecrating a grave. Rhea had been so offended that Byleth hadn’t liked all the pomp and circumstance, the priests bowing at her feet, the golden headdress and jewelry. In the end, Byleth looked like she _had_ fully taken Sothis’s fashion advice.

If only she were here to see it.

* * *

Some good comes of it, as selfish as it feels to say. For some reason, it seems becoming a demigod means she doesn’t have to shave anymore. The little fuzz on her upper lip _finally_ stops growing back in. Byleth has ruled it down to either divine influence or her walking corpse of a body has finally given up.

It doesn’t stop dysphoria the way she hoped it would. There are still days that it’s difficult to drag herself out of bed. She combats it by applying makeup the way Sothis taught her how. It makes her sad for a different reason.

Rhea, to contrast, couldn’t be more ecstatic. She hums to herself, practically skipping around the Monastery. She’s scheduled Byleth to enter the Holy Tomb and receive a divine revelation because she’s been blessed by the goddess.

Byleth doesn’t know how to tell her that she’s already heard the voice of the goddess multiple times.

 _Don’t trust Rhea,_ Jeralt had warned. _Don’t believe a word she says._

Edelgard invites her to return with her to Enbarr briefly. “We cannot allow Rhea to know,” she says.

“I’ll go.”

“Thank you, my teacher.”

This, on the other hand, Byleth looks forward to. Edelgard gives her the push she needs to continue onward.

* * *

Emperor Ionius IX of the Adrestian Empire sits before her on the throne. Byleth isn’t sure he’s alive until he wheezes out a breath.

Sunken eyes, pallid skin, wispy hair-- Byleth hates that her first thought is that she’ll never see Jeralt get this old. He had complained about being old nonstop, and didn’t know his own age (“old enough that I didn’t think I’d get this far”), but he had been a bear of a man despite it.

And then she’s realizing that she’s thinking about Jeralt in past tense, and she focuses on Edelgard’s words. Ionius has just agreed to coronate Edelgard as the new Emperor.

Byleth studies her. She thought Edelgard would be elated, but she looks ambivalent at best. “Thank you, Father. Now, to complete the Imperial succession, you must relinquish your crown here in the throne room.”

She glances at Byleth. “The archbishop of the Church of Seiros would normally act as witness, but my professor will fill that role instead.”

Byleth breathes a sigh of relief. _My professor._ Not ‘the Enlightened One’. Not ‘the Ashen Demon’.

Ionius studies Byleth for a moment, no doubt taking in that she has the same unnatural hair color as Rhea, before averting his eyes. “Edelgard…”

“From this day forward, the weight of the Empire's future shall rest upon my shoulders.” Edelgard kneels, so that Ionius may place the crown upon her head. “All that I do will be for the benefit of the people of Fódlan.”

“Edelgard von Hresvelg… the crown is yours.” Ionius beams with pride, and Byleth catches a hint of the emperor he may have been in years long past. “By the covenant between the red blood and the white sword, and by the double-headed eagle upon your head, I hereby pronounce you the new emperor. Are you prepared to take those responsibilities as your own?”

“In accordance with the ancient covenant, and in keeping with the Hresvelg legacy... I swear that upon this throne, I shall use my reign to lead Fódlan to a new dawn and achieve peace for all.”

Byleth feels slightly dizzy. She’s witnessed history. The girl in front of her is still her student, and someone she feels strongly about (in some way or another)-- but now she’s an emperor. Edelgard doesn’t buckle under the weight of the crown. Ionius slumps back in the throne, letting out a slight groan of discomfort.

Ionius coughs heavily as he tries to speak. “The Imperial succession is complete. My daughter, I regret that I could not do more for you. When you were stolen away to the Kingdom, when the prime minister did those horrible things, I could only watch in horror.”

Her voice cracks. “I-- I understand, Father. In those dark times, your eyes and your fists were my salvation. Within your eyes, I saw true care. And upon your fists clenched tight with indignity, I saw the blood that dripped and fell.” She glances from his eyes to his hands. “Even as I bled, I felt that you, too, must also be bleeding.”

Edelgard had revealed the Crest of Flames just days ago to Byleth in the moonlight. Nightmares had kept both of them from restful sleep.

It had been the same Crest as Byleth’s-- but implanted into her body. The experiments had taken the lives of her ten siblings. _“The Prime Minister was responsible, with his gaggle of nobles,”_ she had confessed. _“They had the Empire under their thumbs. My father, the emperor, tried to stop them, but...it was futile. My father was nothing but a puppet on a string by then. He was powerless to save us.”_

In the end, the experiments had transformed Edelgard into the perfect emperor-- one who bears a Crest of Seiros and the Crest of Flames. That perfect emperor stands at the forefront of the throne room when a portly man bursts in.

His mustache is speckled with spittle; his face has run as red as a tomato with anger. “Your Majesty! You must not leave your sleeping chambers in your condition,” he scolds as if talking to a petulant child. His face changes completely upon noticing Edelgard. “Ah, if it isn’t the young Prince--”

“That is now ‘Emperor’, Prime Minister Aegir,” Edelgard interrupts, voice sharp as a knife. “Or should I have you in particular address me as, ‘Empress’?”

_Him._

Byleth’s hand reaches for her sword. She stops herself, horrified. It had just been days ago that she had nearly taken Kronya’s life. As a mercenary, she had killed before. But that had been a job, not something she ever enjoyed.

Prime Minister Aegir sputters. “I-impossible!”

“It is true,” Ionius says. “Edelgard is the new emperor of the Adrestian Empire. We will summon the officials--” A fit of coughing, “and prepare an ordinance at once. And you, Prime Minister--”

Edelgard waves her hand. “--are dismissed. It will be some time before you are allowed to make contact with the outside world again.”

The Prime Minister’s knees start to buckle. “No! How can this be?! I- Understood.” He bites his tongue. “Understood, _Your Majesty_.”

In a matter of minutes, Byleth has witnessed an ascent to the throne followed by a coup. Good riddance, she thinks. The ex-Prime Minister manages to walk with dignity from the throne room, but the guards train their eyes on him for any false movements. Exile is too good for him.

Ionius draws in a weary breath. “Edelgard... My dear El, I leave the fate of Fódlan... in your capable hands.”

The sharp tone she had shown the Prime Minister shatters. “Father…”

There’s too much finality to that smile of his, Byleth feels. It’s the look of a man’s suffering now ended. Even if he may yet live, he’s no longer tethered to the world by the burden of the throne.

Edelgard grips his bony hand. He manages to weakly squeeze it back. “You’re such… a wonderful daughter, El.”

He looks completely at peace.

* * *

In the days that come, Byleth and Edelgard barely exchange more than greetings in the hallways. Hubert always follows Edelgard like a shadow, but lately they’re always locked in a fierce, quiet discussion that silences when anyone draws near.

Hubert pays extra attention to Byleth’s hair color. She’s used to him sizing her up as if judging her every move, threatening to dispose of her if he upsets his dearest Lady Edelgard. When appears out of a dark alleyway one night while she’s walking back to her dorm, she wonders if he intends to fulfill that threat.

“The monastery is buzzing with talk. Can you hear it?” he says, his voice dripping with some type of sardonic enjoyment. “It is said that in a few meager days, the Enlightened One will receive a revelation from the goddess.”

“So they say.”

His eyes bore into her, studying her face and her body language. What conclusions he’s coming to in his mind, she can’t begin to guess. Kill her or leave her, she just wants it out of the way already.

“The first emperor, Wilhelm Paul Hresvelg, was crowned by Saint Seiros herself,” he says, hands folded behind his back. His tone is conversational. “The Crest of Seiros within Lady Edelgard is proof that she’s the rightful inheritor of the Hresvelg legacy. However, the bond between the Church of Seiros and the Adrestian Empire has changed from the Great Emperor Wilhelm’s time to Lady Edelgard’s. Would you not say so?”

“I have no comment on the matter at this time.” A perfectly dignified response for an oh-so-mighty Enlightened One as herself. She wishes she could just take a page out of Jeralt’s book and keep walking without acknowledging her dear student.

He arches a brow.

“Duly noted.”

“Did you need help on your research project, Hubert? It will be due at the beginning of next class.”

“That will not be a problem, Professor.”

How vaguely threatening, as per usual. She’s too tired for this. “Hubert, can you just tell me what you really want?”

Hubert smirks. “I am simply observing you during this… interesting metamorphosis you’ve undergone. Allow me to answer your question with a question, if I may. Are you familiar with Volkhard von Arundel?”

“I cannot say I am.”

“He is Lady Edelgard's uncle. You may also know him as Lord Arundel, the Empire's Regent. Many years ago, he took Her Majesty and fled to the Kingdom of Faerghus.”

She recalls Edelgard’s story of the two princes. Hubert walks in a slow circle around her. “Then, after a time, he returned to seize power. Joining forces with Prime Minister Aegir and my father, Lord Arundel rendered Emperor Ionius IX...politically impotent.”

“So I understood. The situation has changed.”

“By how much?” Hubert asks. “I cannot begin to fathom the depth of her sadness at Lord Arundel’s betrayal. I see something of Lord Arundel in you... When I look at you, I feel I can almost see a second self lurking beneath the surface. It is as if you are in constant dialogue with something inside your heart-- something with desires very different from your own.”

He completes the circle, standing a few inches in front of her. “Does that description feel familiar to you at all?”

Aegir had been that Prime Minister’s name-- yes, Edelgard had said it. Yes, that makes sense; Ferdinand certainly had been proud of his heritage. Byleth can’t imagine how such a sweet boy could come from such a vile man.

When he had entered the throne room, a part of Byleth felt as if it wanted to spread its wings and roar. She had to restrain herself from repaying the pain he had caused Edelgard tenfold.

The whispered words _Ashen Demon_ by her fellow mercenaries. The terror in Kronya’s eyes as Byleth raised the sword to end her life. The bow to the Enlightened One when the priests see her pass.

Byleth feels so tired. She wants to ask Sothis if she has another self underneath her skin, but there’s no answer but the crickets.

Hubert drinks in the silence. “You seem to me… unpredictable. As though you could turn traitor at any moment.”

He might be right. Byleth doesn’t know what she is, anymore. She’s been a walking corpse since the start. Asserting her gender had been her first act of self-expression, and she began to flourish after that point. Being appointed Professor, although unusual, had given her a place to belong and thrive. Those things feel like they happened so long ago.

“There might be something to that,” she says.

“The more I learn about you, the less I like.”

“I may be beginning to feel the same way.”

“About me?” He smirks. “It’s only natural--”

“About myself,” she interrupts. “Good night, Hubert.”

* * *

It’s like she’s challenging Hubert to attack, turning her back to him, marching straight to Edelgard’s room. She’d love to see him strike down the almighty Enlightened One just days before her revelation.

Like she predicted, Edelgard is still awake. Nightmares, no doubt. She enters the dorm and the door closes behind her. They’re alone.

“Has anything happened, Professor?”

“Besides Hubert threatening my life again?”

Edelgard pinches the bridge of her nose. “Is that-- Hubert has truly stepped out of line this time. I assure you he has my best interests in mind, but threats toward you are unacceptable.”

“What if I end up hurting you as well, Edelgard?”

She stands firm, even against the potential threat. She has the true air of an emperor.

“It is my choice to place my trust in you, my teacher. It would be your choice to break it,” Edelgard says. “I will not regret my choice regardless of yours.”

“What if I cannot make my choice? What if I do something I regret?”

“Professor.”

There’s a hand on top of hers, icy and soft. Byleth’s thumb roams over one of Edelgard’s scars on her hand.

“I am prepared for all possibilities, no matter how grim,” she says. “Even if I have a contingency plan, I cannot bring myself to imagine being able to succeed without you by my side. That holds true even with any potential risks you may bring to my plan.”

“Edelgard… I came here to reassure you,” Byleth laughs weakly. “Yet here you are reassuring me. I must be a failure of a professor.”

“You’re a person too-- Byleth.” Edelgard stumbles over the name. She blushes having said it. “Please pardon my having stepped out of line, my teacher, but just this once--”

“You can say my name.”

They don’t have any words for a moment. The pressure of Edelgard’s hand on her own says enough.

Edelgard notices Byleth running a finger over the same scar. “I wear gloves during the day for this reason,” she says, idly. “The experimentation left many scars. They’re unsightly for someone such as myself.”

“I cannot imagine them to be unsightly in the slightest,” Byleth says. “May I ask you a question?”

“You may.”

“The former Prime Minister didn’t recognize you as having been Princess, did he?”

She shakes her head. “He recognized my Hresvelg lineage. I believe he liked me far more as a Prince. After all of the supposed hard work he put into chiseling me into a perfect future Emperor… he must feel as if I tarnished his masterpiece.”

“You were not his to begin with.” She finds herself unable to stop speaking. “You are a masterpiece _now_.”

“My teacher-- Byleth.” She looks on the verge of tears. From sorrow or from joy, Byleth can’t tell. “Your words mean more to me than you know.”

“You must find your own path. I firmly believe that.” Something clicks. “I thought I had made my own. Yet I’ve found myself in the hands of people with other designs.”

Edelgard seems to be considering her words carefully. “It is never too late for one to follow their heart.”

What a funny way of phrasing it.

After a stretch of silence, Edelgard speaks again. “I… still feel like an intruder in my own body; at best, I feel like a visitor. After what was done to me, I looked in the mirror at a child covered in scars, hair turned a deathly white. I swore to myself that I would use what had happened to me to forge a better future for Fódlan,” she says.

A pause. Edelgard finishes her thought. “I also promised myself that I would create a future in which I feel comfortable as myself, too. To reclaim my own self, as impossible as it felt.”

“When we met, I knew I connected with you on something particular,” Byleth says. “Something more than a Crest.”

“Was your own experience similar, Byleth?”

“I cannot claim to have undergone such suffering,” she says. “I hadn’t a throne to live up to. I was just a mercenary’s kid. I never identified strongly as anything- I was rarely seen as human- until I grasped womanhood.”

“Pardon my saying so, but…” Edelgard holds Byleth’s hand tight. “Jeralt seemed truly supportive.”

“He had been. He nearly killed his best friend and right-hand man of decades for disrespecting me.”

Edelgard laughs. “I can scarcely imagine a father so protective. If it is not too painful… could you tell me more about him?”

Byleth recalls her isolation-- on days where Jeralt wasn’t available, the remaining mercs would check on her just enough to make sure she hadn’t wandered off or died. She fished alone, caught her own food, cleaned up after herself, and returned to her private quarters to paint her toenails with polish stolen from the market stalls.

“I would love to,” she says. To remember him might help her grieve. “In exchange, if it is also not too difficult, could you tell me about your siblings?”

Edelgard smiles. “I would love to as well.”

* * *

_How did it come to this?_

The Sword of the Creator glows in Byleth’s hands. Edelgard raises her shield against the attack. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me, Professor,” she says, like it’s a farewell.

_Could I have prevented this?_

Byleth slashes Edelgard’s shield like it were paper mache.

The Holy Tomb quavers with the force of the battle. Dust that hasn’t come unsettled since Sothis breathed her last shakes from the ceiling.

Rhea shouts orders over Byleth. There’s one thing certain about the cruel tone with which she orders students to kill the invading imperial soldiers: she’s not the person Byleth thought she had been.

When Byleth sat upon Sothis’s throne, where she had met her so many times before in dreams, she hoped to hear the voice of the goddess- her friend. Instead, she was given the same deafening silence. Rhea had become infuriated that it wasn’t working--

And then Edelgard had revealed herself as the Flame Emperor who had stood against them before, and ordered her soldiers to rob the Crest stones from the caskets in the Holy Tomb.

Now, Edelgard looks down at the tear in her shield as if it’s a mere inconvenience. She counters with her axe, but Byleth easily blocks it. She taught her that technique. There’s strength behind it, but not spirit.

_She’s holding back._

It hadn’t been long since their conversation. They stayed up all night, telling stories to keep nightmares at bay. Edelgard had an unreadable look on her face when Byleth left come daybreak. Now Byleth can place that look: it’s the same that was on her face when she said goodbye to her father, for what she felt was the last time.

They stand apart from one another, their weapons drawn. Her other students have flanked Metodey- Edelgard’s general- and Hubert. Reluctantly, Edelgard makes the call. “Stand down.”

Hubert raises his hands above his head, but with a twinkle in his eye. Just a flick of the wrist could unleash an explosion of magic.

The Holy Tomb floods with silence, the language of Sothis. And then Rhea’s footsteps echo throughout the room.

“You have disappointed me, Edelgard. To think that a descendant of House Hresvelg would dare betray the holy church.” She looks down upon Edelgard as a predator would at struggling prey.

Edelgard’s will doesn’t break. “So, it is my teacher who stands in my way. I always knew it would come to this,” she says, her teeth clenched.

Rhea gestures to Edelgard. “Professor, I command you to kill Edelgard at once. She is a danger to all of Fódlan. Such a rebellious heart cannot be allowed to keep beating.”

Her students hold their breath. The world is watching. A small part in the back of her mind tingles, something ethereal and holy. Sothis is watching.

 _“It is never too late for one to follow their heart,”_ Edelgard had said.

She doesn’t remember her heart. She’d never felt it beating, giving her life or warmth.

But she remembers the feeling of all of theirs, back during the celebration of her birthday.

Byleth lowers her sword. She stands in front of Edelgard, guarding her from Rhea.

Rhea looks like she’s been slapped in the face.

“You... How dare you!” she spits. There’s a tone under her voice, something like a primal growl. Byleth can’t shake the feeling that she’s heard it before.

Edelgard blanches. “My teacher, I-- Thank you! But are you certain that-- No, now isn't the time for discussion.”

The Black Eagles have lowered their weapons as well. Hubert teleports to Edelgard’s side. “Words cannot properly express my gratitude, Professor.”

Rhea’s hands tremble. Her fingers curl, nails digging into her skin like claws. “You dare make this choice? You are just another failure. You’re worse than a failure-- you’re some sick, stillborn corpse masquerading as a woman.”

“This ‘corpse’ was chosen by Sothis to receive her power,” Byleth says with a scowl. “And this is how she wants it used.”

A feverish tone grips her voice. “Your presence soils this Holy Tomb, and disgraces my brethren. I will not allow one who would lend our enemies strength to wield the power of the goddess Sothis.”

Byleth raises the Sword of the Creator against Rhea. The Archbishop’s face darkens at the _audacity._

 _“_ I have passed judgement. And now, I shall rip your chest open…” The soothing voice recedes into her body and the primal growl comes out. She opens her mouth to reveal rows of sharp incisors. “ **And take back your heart myself!”**

Her body twists. The sheer magical power turns Byleth’s stomach. When she gets her bearings, Rhea’s transformed into a white dragon whose head scrapes the vaulted ceiling. Her scales shine in the light. This is the true monster behind Fódlan.

“Try and take it, then.”

Hubert gazes upon the beast. “The Immaculate One…”

“Yes.” Edelgard steps back. “The monsters that have controlled Fódlan in secret for far too long. Rhea is their leader.”

Rhea- or the Immaculate One- lets out a roar that shakes the Monastery as if there were an earthquake. Energy gathers in her maw for an attack.

Byleth can’t take her on. Not here. Not now. Before she can stop this beast that’s controlled Fódlan from the shadows, she has to ensure Edelgard’s safety.

Hubert orders the evacuation. Byleth grabs Edelgard’s hand and they sprint.

* * *

Energy buzzes through the provisional camp. Soldiers run through drills; carriages come and go with supplies from Imperial provinces; Edelgard delivers speeches both grand and small decrying the sins of the Church and the necessity of its destruction.

Once again, the necessity of their duties keeps Byleth and Edelgard from talking privately for long. Edelgard has an invasion of Garreg Mach Monastery to orchestrate; Byleth takes charge as the commander of the newly-named ‘Black Eagle Strike Force’. She, with the Sword of the Creator, will be their best chance against the Immaculate One.

Byleth’s grateful for the Strike Force. She couldn’t lead an army like Metodey, but she has experience leading small units, like the mercenaries, or her students. She has little experience working with some of the students who joined her house late, but the other teachers have apparently trained them well. Felix, for one, demands to spar with her at every given opportunity. Mercedes and Annette provide healing that makes up for the gap left by Flayn when she stayed with Rhea.

Within mere days, the final preparations have been made. At dawn, the main force would march upon Garreg Mach and the Black Eagle Strike Force would repel the main commanders of their defense: namely, figures like Seteth, Flayn, Gilbert, and Catherine.

It’s past midnight when Byleth strolls into Edelgard’s quarters. Like she predicted, the Emperor sits at her writing desk, working hard.

“You may find yourself sleep deprived during the crucial battle tomorrow.”

Edelgard pushes her parchments aside. Byleth’s presence doesn’t surprise her; in fact, she breathes out a sigh of relief. “I have waged worse battles under longer periods without sleep.”

“No battles like this, I assume.”

“In this scope? Of course not.” She still wears the crown, even in the dead of night. “Professor… I must share again how grateful I am to have you by my side.”

“Flattery will not excuse your need for sleep. Get some rest as an order from your Professor.”

“As the Emperor, I am afraid you can no longer pull rank upon me.” Edelgard chuckles.

“What about as your friend?”

Edelgard’s brows arch.

“We are friends, are we not?” Byleth asks.

“I hadn’t thought it necessary to put a name upon it. Professor and student, emperor and commander, two who bear the Crest of Flames… Our relationship has many different dimensions.”

“You wound me, Edelgard. I didn’t know it was so intolerable to be my friend.”

Byleth spies a hairbrush near the bedside. She picks it up and walks up behind Edelgard. Slowly, with unspoken permission, she removes the crown and puts it on the desk. Edelgard’s long hair has become tangled. Byleth begins to brush it out gently.

“It… would be not intolerable at all. Rather, it might be delightful, but intolerable for different reasons.”

“I don’t understand.”

Edelgard folds her hands in her lap and stares down at them. From this position, the mighty emperor looks so small.

After they had fled from the monastery, Edelgard had asked if Byleth regretted her choice. To walk alongside Edelgard would mean to walk a path soaked with blood. Soldiers and generals would die. Civilians would be dragged into the war. Byleth had answered without needing to think about it: she would follow Edelgard to the ends of the earth.

Byleth finishes brushing Edelgard’s hair. It flows down her back, a silky shimmering white. Edelgard turns in her chair to look up at Byleth.

“When this is over, Professor… I may have something I should tell you. A truth that may disgust you about me.”

“I cannot imagine such a thing.”

“If you would stand beside me for now as a ‘friend’, too… I would accept that.”

Something in Byleth’s stomach twists. Who is she, fawning over the emperor- no, her student- and yearning over something more? She stands up straight, forcing everything from her mind but tactics for the battle ahead.

“Let us take back Fódlan together, as friends.”

* * *

Explosions tear down the Monastery that reached for the heavens. Imperial soldiers charge, bearing flags of the Adrestian Empire. The surrounding town evacuated, flames tear through homes and markets in which Byleth had been welcomed as a valued guest.

All the thoughts in Byleth’s mind have dulled to a razor-sharp point. A moment of sloppiness would see her killed. She leads the front line with support from the Black Eagle Strike Force, only speaking to shout orders. Class is in session.

Seteth stays wisely out of her range on the back of his wyvern. She strikes down a soldier on a ballista and fires a bolt into the chest of the mount. It plummets, but Seteth jumps off and lands on the ground. He recovers quickly and charges with his axe. She parries with the Sword of the Creator.

“You traitor,” he growls, “I won’t forgive you for turning on Rhea!”

“I am not your enemy, Seteth.”

“How could you turn your back on us? Have we not shown you respect?”

“Toward me, yes. And for that, I am grateful.” She breaks the deadlock and slashes at his dominant arm. “But the people of Fódlan are not so lucky.”

His axe falls as he grips his bloody arm with his free hand. He reaches for a handaxe at his side, but she knocks him over the head with the broad end of her sword. He crumples to the ground.

“I will not stop fighting,” he pants, “I will defend the monastery to my final breath--”

A shriek interrupts them. “Brother!”

Across the battlefield, the Strike Force has disarmed Flayn of her magic staff and surrounded her. Seteth surges toward her. “Do not harm her!” he roars.

“Spare Flayn!” Byleth commands.

Her students break the circle surrounding her. Seteth takes his sister into his arms, wincing from his wounds. She’s on the verge of tears.

Byleth strides toward Seteth. She lowers her sword. “Seteth. Listen to me. For the sake of Flayn’s life and your own, you must retreat from here. Rhea is no longer thinking rationally. She would eagerly see you both die in order to preserve a warped image of the goddess that only exists in her mind.”

Closer to the heart of the monastery, veteran soldiers like Gilbert and Catherine collapse; they had been ordered into hopeless situations. Rhea barely pays them a glance, commanding unit after unit of soldiers to charge to their deaths for their faith.

“Damn it all,” Seteth hisses. “Flayn, I’m sorry. We have to go.”

They’ve caught her attention. Rhea’s voice booms across the battlefield. “You traitors! First the professor betrays me, now my own kin? You disgrace the goddess with your cowardice!”

Flayn winces. “That’s our cue,” she says. She turns to face Byleth. “Professor… thank you. I did enjoy the time I spent as your student.”

“We stand against the Church, not the faith,” Byleth says. “We will have spaces for both of you by our sides should you change your minds.”

Seteth gives her a long, unreadable look-- anger, undoubtedly, but also gratitude. Finally, he closes his eyes. Flayn uses a warp spell to teleport them from the vicinity. A moment later, Byleth spots two figures flying into the horizon on Seteth’s wyvern, no doubt healed by Flayn’s magic.

With the Church’s commanders defeated, only one major threat remains. Byleth regroups with Edelgard for a pincer attack against Rhea.

Rhea just laughs as Byleth faces her. “You traitorous _thing_. Have you come to receive your divine punishment?”

“No more blood needs to be shed, Rhea.”

“You cannot speak of peace now after spilling so much innocent blood. You know nothing of the goddess’s mercy. Now I’ll teach you a practical lesson, _professor,_ on the goddess’s wrath!”

Rhea charges faster than humanly possible. Byleth swings the Sword of the Creator; Rhea blocks it with a shield bearing a holy symbol. Edelgard leads an attack from behind, but Rhea- demonstrating superhuman senses- uses her free hand to parry _that_ with her sword. With just a stomp on the ground, a wave of energy surges out and pushes both Byleth and Edelgard back.

“I will never forgive you!” Rhea shrieks. “You wretched fools! You have committed the ultimate sin in making an enemy of the goddess herself!”

“You wouldn’t recognize the goddess if she stared you in the face.”

A second attack strikes Rhea’s exposed skin; the sword bounces off as if she struck metal. Flesh gives way to scales. Byleth and Edelgard jump backward as Rhea’s twisting form grows to the size of a castle. With another sickening sound, the Immaculate One bursts forth. “I will not allow Garreg Mach to fall! My mother shall not fall!”

Imperial soldiers drop their weapons and flee from the beast. The Immaculate One releases a beam of energy upon them; only charred cinders remain of their bodies, as if they’d been smote by the goddess herself. The Immaculate One roars with laughter and fires again, scales glistening in the light of the flames.

Smoke blackens the sky as the monastery burns. Rapid as lightning, she turns the attack solely on Byleth. Energy gathers in her maw.

“Professor!” Edelgard yells.

Rubble collapses around Byleth. Smoke fills her lungs. The screams of terror fill her ears; Edelgard’s voice sounds miles away.

The Immaculate One fires.

* * *

.

.

.

.

.

_Cicadas scream. The wind whistles. The rattle of a training dummy on its wooden stand._

_“Nice swing, kid. One day, you’re going to be a better fighter than your old man.”_

_A contented hum. Another swing. Then, quiet._

_“Dad.”_

_“Speak your mind, kid.”_

_A cough; a child’s voice strains from disuse._

_“What if something bad happens to you?”_

_A sharp breath, which is then held for a moment._

_“This is because of the… accident yesterday, isn’t it?”_

_An affirmative nod. The leaves rustle with the breeze. A man’s sigh._

_“Listen. Mercenary work isn’t always pretty. The whole business with fighting and war… I wouldn’t be in it if it weren’t all I’m good for. It’s rotten. It can turn your soul black.”_

_Cicadas buzz. The nearby stream bubbles and flows._

_“But... that doesn’t mean there’s no reason to ever fight. If your mother were here, she would say something wise, like… when language fails, the silenced can only speak with their blades. Think that’s a quote from some book or another… Anyway. The most important thing you can learn from me besides swordplay is to always fight for the right reason, no matter what the cost.”_

_“But…”_

_“I’m getting there. It’s true that Dominicus fell during our last battle, but he never wavered from his beliefs. That stray arrow he took nearly hit a civilian. He followed his heart to the very end.”_

_The sound of his faint grin leaks into his voice. “There’s not a client we’d take that he wouldn’t thoroughly vet. If we hurt those who are already suffering, we’d be no better than the kn-”_

_Another sigh. “Well, I’m getting ahead of myself.”_

_“So you could… die?”_

_“Being old in the merc business is a good sign, kid. If I’m not gone now, I’m not going anywhere. Even so, my point is… even if I were to fall for what I believe in, do you know where I would always be?”_

_“Where?”_

_A finger pokes the child’s chest. “In here. In your heart, Byleth.”_

_A sniffle. The child embraces the man._

_“C’mere, kid. That’s more than enough serious talk and training for today. Do you want dinner? We can make your favorite.”_

_“Mhm.”_

_“Good. You’re a strong kid. Let’s take you home.”_

_The child is tired. The man lets out a small grunt as he picks them up. From up in his arms, they can see the whole world._

_“Love you,” the child murmurs._

_The man’s breath hitches. It’s the first time the child has ever said it out loud._

_“I… sorry, you caught me off guard. I love you too, Byleth. More than you can ever know.”_

_When they return to Remire Village, nobody comments on the mist in Jeralt’s eyes, nor the smile on his face._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

* * *

Voices-- she recalls a man’s, and later, a girl’s. She can’t grasp the shape of the words any more than fog.

Pain. Someone is shaking her shoulder. The other senses return piece by piece. She remembers to breathe when she coughs up water. Someone’s talking.

“In the name of the goddess,” he’s saying. “It’s her.”

A high-pitched voice accompanies it. “Why was she floating down the river?”

“Does it matter, Felize? Get her an elixir and a wool blanket.”

Her legs don’t work yet. She’s carried in strong arms and seated in front of a campfire. It crackles. It’s warm on her soaked skin. Something heavy and soft falls over her shoulders.

She trains her eyes on the orange glow. If she doesn’t look up, she can maintain the illusion that her father is sitting across from her. All of this has been a dream, and they’re about to travel to their next job.

Reality stares at her in the face-- or rather, Cerrik does, on the other side of the campfire. He runs a hand through his gray mane of hair. Byleth last saw him during the battle, leading the battalion of mercenaries. His hair had still been brown. His face hadn’t been so set with wrinkles.

“Byleth,” he says, as if still in disbelief. “What do you remember?”

She coughs. Her voice is hoarse. “Battle at Garreg Mach. Dragon… Rhea… I… was knocked unconscious. I think.”

Cerrik closes his eyes, hanging his head for a moment.

“Byleth, that battle was five years ago.”

Silence. The campfire spits stray embers. Felize returns with a waterskin and an elixir. Byleth chugs both of them, realizing how desperately parched she is. Liquid spills down her chin and her neck. She doesn’t stop until both the bottle and waterskin are empty. She lowers her head and gasps for air.

“Five years,” she says, in disbelief.

“It’s the Ethereal Moon of the year 1185. That battle nearly tore the monastery apart.” Cerrik gestures to the ruins of Garreg Mach Monastery, still standing tall on the horizon. “Tomorrow was supposed to be the Millennium Festival. Nobody has time to think about that, now. We’re just trying to make it.”

Every muscle in her body screams as she stands. The wool blanket falls to the ground. She tosses the waterskin aside.

“I’m going to Garreg Mach.”

“Are you crazy?! After what you just went through?” Cerrik says, jumping to his feet. “I can’t let you. I already thought I lost you, too.”

“I made a promise.”

He clenches his fists, then releases them.

“Felize, round up the others and have camp packed up in five minutes.” He looks at Byleth. “Do what you have to. We’ll meet up with you.”

“You still intend to follow me?”

Felize jumps in. “We deserted the Imperial Army. We were there for you, not for Edelgard. She didn’t stop us from leaving, after...”

“After. And since then, we didn’t think she’d be happy to see us again,” Cerrik mutters.

“We’ve been searching for you. So has she. That’s why I don’t think it bothered her that we left,” Felize says. “We shared a goal.”

Five years. The mercenaries had been searching for her for five years. _Edelgard_ has been searching for her for five years. Byleth won’t make her wait another moment.

“Thank you for saving me, but we must catch up later,” Byleth says. “I have someone to see.”

* * *

The Goddess Tower has fallen into disrepair. Dust and moss have overtaken it. Edelgard’s armor shines in the morning light.

“Five years ago to the day... If things had continued on as they were, today would have been the Millennium Festival,” she muses.

She’s changed. Same crown upon her head, but with polished armor befitting an empress. When Byleth’s footsteps get her attention, she gets a glimpse of her sharp glare.

“Halt! Who's there?!” Edelgard demands.

Byleth once again finds herself at a loss for words. She steps forward into the sunlight.

Edelgard’s jaw drops. “It can't be! Professor? Is it really you?”

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“But…” she sputters. “But I searched everywhere and never found a trace! My teacher... what have you been doing all this time? Where have you been?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I may have been dead?”

“You aren’t joking, are you?” Edelgard’s laugh is wet with tears. “You do realize it's been five years since you disappeared! Do you have any idea how guilty I felt? How broken my heart was? I searched high and low after you vanished!”

Byleth’s gaze lowers to the ground. Edelgard approaches, voice raising. “Although there was no proof, I somehow knew you were still alive. All this time, I led everyone as best I could, and fought with all my heart. It's been a difficult path to walk alone.”

She’s not sure if she expects Edelgard to slap her for leaving so suddenly. Instead, she pulls Byleth into a tight embrace.

“Welcome back, my teacher. I'm so happy that you're safe.”

“I’m sorry. To have promised you I would fight by your side as your friend, only to leave you…”

“It felt both like such a short time and an eternity. Before I say anything else, I must ask. Do you... still feel the way you did all those years ago?”

“I do,” she says, immediately. Something warm buzzes in her chest and twists in her stomach.

“My teacher… you said that you would fight at my side no matter how many enemies we should amass. Are you truly certain that belief still holds strong?” Edelgard asks. “As for me, my resolve has not faltered. I'm determined as ever to see this through to the end. I will defeat the false goddess. I will save this world from those creatures and give humanity its freedom back.”

She steps back, hands on Byleth’s shoulders. “Are you still prepared to stand with me?”

“You needn’t ask again. My answer is the same: I am.”

Edelgard releases a breath. “Thank you, truly. I shall update you on the war and reintroduce you to the Black Eagle Strike Force. They never gave up hope that you were alive, either.”

She bites her lip. Byleth allows her to return to the embrace.

“And yet… please allow us to stay like this for a little longer, my teacher.”

* * *

Reuniting with her students involves lots of hugs, handshakes, and fawning over their new clothing and armor. It’s strange to feel such pride seeing her students having grown mature and capable, but it’s come at the cost of war, and a five-year gap that feels to her like a particularly bad night’s sleep.

Some students have left, but many transfer students from other Houses have done as much to support Edelgard as the original Black Eagles. Without them, Byleth doesn’t feel like she could have survived the five years-- not due to battles, but due to emotional damage.

Surprisingly, former staff have defected from Garreg Mach Monastery. Hanneman hasn’t changed much; apparently he’s used his Crest research to support Edelgard’s cause. Manuela performs a physical on Byleth and concludes that it’s as if she hasn’t aged a day. No wounds, no scars, no signs of death or coma activity in the brain.

“No signs of detransitioning, either,” she comments. “Seems like you might not even need to take E2 anymore.”

Byleth doesn’t even want to think about how the war might have affected her ability to get hormones. There’s a more important topic on her mind, though. Edelgard had mentioned the experimentation performed upon her may shorten her lifespan.

There may come a day when Byleth has to live in a world without Edelgard.

“Thank you for the examination,” she says.

She leaves before Manuela can tell her that she still has no heartbeat.

Shamir and Jeritza greet her with a nod and little else. The former must be torn that Catherine, a knight she had a romantic affair with, stayed loyal to Rhea. The latter is happy he may have the chance to kill Byleth himself.

The one who reacts the strongest is Alois, Jeralt’s former squire, who lifts her in the air like a child as soon as he sees her.

“Look at you! You’ve returned to us, just like the goddess herself!” Alois beams. His smile is wide with his usual bombastic energy, but the war has taken a clear toll on him as well. His hair has thinned, with wisps of gray, and wrinkles from worry have set in his forehead.

He spins her around once before setting her own. Byleth feels only slightly awkward about it. Alois never knew her as a child; Jeralt fled the monastery with her as a baby, leaving his squire behind. Byleth only met Alois that fateful day in Remire Village when they were taken to Garreg Mach Monastery for the first time.

Despite having never known her as a kid, he’s lifted her up just like Jeralt would. A connection forms that she hadn’t had the chance to explore.

“Am I heavy?” Byleth finds herself asking.

“Not in the slightest!” Alois says. His voice dims. “I… thought we had lost you, there. I left the Knights of Seiros to try and find you, and to honor Captain Jeralt’s memory.”

“I’m sorry for being gone for so long, Alois.”

“You weren’t doing it on purpose! Were you? I know my jokes are bad, but you don’t need to avoid us for _that_ long again!” He tries to chuckle, but he’s too emotional for it to sound natural.

“It wasn’t on purpose. It was as if I was asleep.” It’s an easier explanation that she was comatose rather than whatever the truth is.

“Asleep? Did you have any dreams?”

Cicadas. A bubbling stream. There was a training dummy too, she thinks. Then warmth in her chest as she was held. She only remembers being awoken by a female voice chiding her. She would have been annoyed, but it sounded like an old friend.

“Not in particular,” she says, carefully. “Alois, would you care to get a drink? It will be in my father’s memory. Cerrik and the other mercenaries have been drinking their fair share of the alcohol rations.”

Alois’s face lights up. “I’d love to! There’s no dogs allowed in the bar, right?”

“I assume not. Why would you ask?”

“Because they can’t hold their _licker!_ ”

Byleth slowly turns and walks away, shaking her head, while Alois booms with laughter.

* * *

Cerrik, Alois, and Felize have made it to the bar before Byleth. A part of her wishes to be just the Professor again, running around in-between lessons collecting lost items and petting stray animals. But even though she’s Byleth to Edelgard, she’s still The Enlightened One to the world, and thus she’s stopped on the way to the bar multiple times by generals and tacticians to discuss the upcoming battles.

By the time she finally enters, Alois and Cerrik have already drained a pint each. Felize raises her glass. “There she is! Order one for the kid!”

Heads turn as Byleth walks in. Edelgard might give her flak for drinking here, but she considers it to be motivating the troops. She has no desire to stand in a tall tower like Rhea, staring down at the people devoted to her as if they were ants.

She takes a drink of the brew and nearly spits it out. She’s used to small sips of wine when Manuela offers them, not this-- whatever _this_ is.

“Falchion Brew,” Cerrik and Alois say, at the same time.

“Boss’s old favorite,” Felize adds.

It feels like there’s a bloody war being conducted on her tongue against her taste buds. She’s positive that being attacked by the Immaculate One hurt less.

She manages to take another sip.

Everyone’s eager to know where Byleth has been these five years, and they’re only slightly disappointed to know that she knows as little as they do. An attack from the Immaculate One fired directly at her, and the cathedral crumbled atop her, and chunks of the cliff upon which the Monastery was built collapsed.

“The next thing I knew, I heard voices. There was a man’s, I think, and then… separately, I think... a girl’s. I can’t remember anything about them.”

“If you can forgive my saying so, it sounds like… a miracle,” Felize finally says.

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

The Sword of the Creator had just been floating upstream, too. The fact that nobody had snatched it and ran by now really makes her wonder if she was just in the river the whole time.

They’ve downed their drinks. Another round comes up.

“For Jeralt,” Cerrik says.

“For Captain Jeralt!” Alois says. Others toast around the bar as well to the Blade Breaker, to Jeralt, to old times.

They toast their glasses and sip. Out of all the ways to remember her father, this has to be the worst. No wonder he never gave her a sip of this. No wonder Sitri hated alcohol.

“Byleth.” Cerrik lowers his flask and lets out a sigh. “I want to take the opportunity to say what I’ve been holding in for five years. I’m sorry.”

She’s grateful for the excuse to stop drinking. “For what reason?”

“It’s not easy to pick just one. I gave you and Jeralt hell.”

“That’s why he kept you around,” Byleth says. Felize nods in agreement.

“Sure, he kept me around for giving _him_ hell. He never came as close to having my head as the day I attacked you, after you... revealed you’re actually a woman. When he entered my quarters, I was sure he was going to kill me right then and there. I’ve seen him pissed off before, but that quiet, seething anger…” He manages a laugh. “Damn. If you could put just one of him on the front lines, the war would be over.”

_Well, you can’t. He’s dead._

She bites her tongue, hard. Cerrik and Jeralt worked together as mercenaries together for years, if not decades. Cerrik will always think of the Blade Breaker before Jeralt. It’s unfair of her to just snap like that.

“I’m messing this up, aren’t I? I’ve worded this so many times in my head over these five years, but I never thought I could be so lucky to actually say it face to face.” Cerrik rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Byleth. I’m sorry for treating you horribly.”

“You tested my resolve,” Byleth says with a shrug. “I like to think that defeating you made the others believe this wasn’t just a whim, to become a woman. Besides, I had been stealing, so I deserved your ire.”

Felize raises her glass. “You’re paying the tab to make up for it, right?”

Cerrik’s glare shuts her down. The atmosphere remains tense.

“Even though you were stealing, it didn’t excuse me acting like that. And even when we acted as a battalion…” Cerrik rubs his temples. “I should have tried to save you. Instead, I felt like I was frozen as I watched that damned dragon attack you.”

Alois chimes in. “For what it’s worth, I feel the same. I think all of us blamed ourselves in some way.”

Byleth isn’t sure what to say. Cerrik sighs into his flask. “I’m just glad the goddess answered my prayers and gave me this chance to make things right.”

Cerrik had never mentioned religion before-- Jeralt worked to distance Byleth from all that. It’s a more jarring sign of the time that’s passed than his gray hair.

“Allow me to be clear as well. I forgive you for any actual or perceived transgressions,” she says. “I’m just grateful to have you all.”

The next thing she knows, they’re piling on her for a group hug. She’s not had enough of _those_ recently. “We’re going to follow you to the very end!” Felize says.

“Let’s set this world right!” Alois adds.

The night becomes comfortable after that. They share stories about Jeralt from different eras of his life. Alois recalls him trying his hardest to impress Sitri. On one occasion, he plucked flowers for her-- from the greenhouse, without permission.

“As a knight, Jeralt fought some tough battles, but watching him steal from the gardener who was trying to whack him upside the head with a trowel…” Alois laughs, slapping his thigh. “He had met his match then and there!”

Cerrik, Felize, and Byleth drink up the stories of a younger, more awkward Jeralt. Alois is saddened to know that Jeralt scarcely talked of him, but it was as if he tried to put the Church of Seiros entirely behind him when he fled.

Byleth’s lips curl into a smile. “There’s one he said to mention… about a horseshoe and a drunken bandit?”

Alois, sure enough, turns red as a tomato. “He promised to never talk about that incident!”

He refuses to elaborate, which only makes everyone laugh harder trying to imagine what it could be. As they settle down, there’s one thing they all independently agree upon.

“He never stopped talking about you, Byleth,” Cerrik says.

Felize and Alois both nod. Several mercenaries, gathered around other tables, also chime in with their agreement.

Byleth blinks. “Pardon?”

“On missions and so on. He would brag about being able to read your emotions better. The deer and elk always made him think of you, on account of how you always watched them.” He smiles faintly. “He used to bug Felize and Grace in that awkward way of his for advice on raising a girl.”

Felize laughs. “It was heartwarming, in a weird way, you know? Said he didn’t know a thing about ‘girl stuff’.”

Alois chimes in. “Even once he rejoined the Knights, he would boast about how your House always won the mock battles and the inter-house competitions. Said you were a natural born leader, he did!”

The warmth spreads through her chest, but it burns this time, too. Jeralt’s apology for both his absence as a father and his presence, rather than Sitri’s, still rings in her ears. He did teach her how to be a good person, when he could be there. The prolonged absences made her wonder if he secretly feared the emotionless Ashen Demon as much as the rest of the mercenaries had.

Now, those same mercenaries are calling her by her name and celebrating her, and it turns out that she never left Jeralt’s mind.

“Sometimes, I feared that he regretted having me,” Byleth says. The words surprise even her. It’s like she’s uncovered a deep, hidden part of her soul. “He would look at me, then sharply look away. Especially after I began to present as a woman, he would often say I looked like my mother.”

“Grief… grief is a tricky thing,” Cerrik says. “It never really goes away. It eventually gets easier to deal with, and you think about it less and less, and then… something sets it off.”

Jeralt had been her most ardent supporter. She had been her own worst critic. Sometimes, she couldn’t help but feel like an imposter. It’s as if she were among Solon or Kronya, and her friendly disguise would wear off and reveal she’s not quite human.

Back during the ball, she was only referred to and viewed as a woman, and several people wanted to dance with her. Even so, she had felt as if she were a shadow of a person, deceiving them in some way. If any of them _suspected_ her secret, it must make her a spectacle in their eyes. What if they just wanted their chance to dance with the non-woman, the way the mercenaries once lined up to spar with the Ashen Demon?

It hurts. Byleth can’t just forget that, looking around at everyone. Yet that fear had driven her to the Goddess Tower to take a break, and she had met Edelgard there that night.

“Are we sure… I’m not actually a demon?” Byleth asks. “Rhea accused me of stealing power from the goddess. What if she’s right? What if my existence is blasphemous?”

Felize slams her glass on the table. “You know damn well that anything Rhea says is a blatant lie.”

“You’re not a demon,” Cerrik says.

“Not even an Ashen one?”

Felize inhales through her clenched teeth. Cerrik wrings his hands. “I assume no amount of apology would make up for the harm that must have caused you.”

“Emotionless, and inhuman, and evil,” Byleth continues, fervently. “All I had was my father, and I hadn’t even been sure he believed in me. Now I know he was always thinking of me, he wasn’t just nice to me out of pity or some such remorse, and… he’s dead.”

She hates seeing Cerrik and Felize flinch back at her sharp tone. She can’t even tell why she’s raising her voice right now.

Alois puts a hand on her shoulder. “Byleth. It’s okay.”

She takes several deep breaths. “I… I am truly sorry. I lost myself.”

“Because of your five-year absence, you haven’t had time to process these things, or even mourn Jeralt,” Cerrik asks, his voice calm. “It’s okay. Cry, shout, even come take a swing at me. I know I deserve it. Whatever you need to do.”

He takes a swig. “We’ve had over five years to grieve. It must feel like such a short time since you lost him.”

It has been. It feels like yesterday. Since then, it’s felt like one endless day without rest; she’s been charging on and on and on and on without an end. Defeat Kronya. Protect Edelgard. Capture the Monastery. And now she’s been standing over maps stuck full of colored flags, strategizing for a war that’s torn Fodlan apart for years, and she barely knows who she is.

She’s tired. She can’t stop yet, but she’s tired. And it still hurts.

“I wish he were still here,” she mutters, feeling as if she were so small.

“He’s still with us in spirit,” Alois says. “And in _spirits_! He would have loved a celebration like this.”

Cerrik looks horrified. Somehow, the pun gets a meager chuckle out of Byleth. “He would have drank this place into the ground.”

Felize adds, “he could have ended the war by uniting all the nations against him, trying to get him to pay his bar tab.”

Byleth laughs a little louder. “He would have dragged me out of the river on a fishing trip.”

“He would’ve caught a beauty,” Alois says.

Byleth realizes, suddenly, that there are tears flowing down her cheeks again. She can’t say if she feels happy or sad, though. She decides she’s content on not needing to identify it right now.

“Another round for everyone?” she offers. “On me.”

The bar patrons cheer. Byleth spends the rest of the night sharing stories of Jeralt and learning to like the taste of Falchion Brew. It’s bitter and acidic, but the longer the taste rests on her tongue, the sweeter it gets. It reminds her she’s alive.

* * *

Edelgard’s manifesto travels fast, but rumor spreads faster. The Enlightened One, blessed by the goddess, has returned from death and turned her blade against the church. Morale surges in the Imperial Army as they prepare to turn the tide of the war.

Prior to capturing the Great Bridge of Myrddin in order to gain a foothold in Leicester territory, Hubert pulls her aside and tells her that they’re working alongside Jeralt’s killers.

“Excuse me?”

Hubert has softened in the five years, but only to his allies. Gone is the boy who said he hated her the more he learned about her. Now he looks truly sympathetic as he repeats his explanation.

“The regent of the Empire, Lord Arundel, maintains his own military troops. His plans differ from our own. Solon and Kronya both served him.”

“Why must we cooperate?”

He casts his gaze downward. “Professor, I understand how you must be feeling, considering what they did to your father--”

“You understand?” Byleth snaps. “Does Alois know about this? Does Leonie? Is the military might of the Empire not enough to topple a displaced Church?”

“It isn’t,” he says. “Let me be clear. Lord Arundel and those who work for him are serpents and crooks of the lowest kind, but they are hostile to the Church. Once the Church has been dealt with, they’re our next targets.”

“Hubert, you can’t possibly--”

“I do not enjoy working with them in the slightest. Do not dare assume what I have or have not experienced,” he spits. “I watched helplessly as he stole Lady Edelgard away, and later as he oversaw the cruel experimentation. I tried to follow her on foot during her exile, only to be dragged back by soldiers. This decision has been extremely painful for Her Majesty to make, to shake hands with a man whose own hands are soaked in the blood of her siblings.”

His voice softens. “I will do all I can to ensure her suffering is not in vain, and I hope I can count on you to do the same. As for all I have told you, please keep it in mind as we march forward. More importantly, I implore you to fight as best you can for Edelgard… From the bottom of my heart, I beg this of you.”

She hates herself for having snapped like that. She takes several deep breaths to quiet the roaring inside her mind. “I… I understand. I apologize for speaking out of turn.”

“I apologize as well. Let us hurry to the strategy meeting.”

* * *

The bloodshed is inevitable, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Ignatz and Leonie help update the Leicester Alliance maps as to minimize unnecessary conflict and only fight necessary battles, but Judith fights to the bitter end and Byleth wonders if it was ‘necessary’. Lysithea rejoins their side on the battlefield, but Hilda refuses to surrender and dies at the hands of her former friends. They spare Claude’s life, and Byleth reminds herself it came at the cost of hundreds of soldiers unlucky enough to have ever chosen a side.

Byleth knows now why Jeralt slept for three or four hours per night at most. She can hardly close her eyes without seeing faces breathe their last. She spends her time preparing lectures to ensure the Black Eagle Strike Force stays at the top of their game, because their enemies are training as well-- and besides fighting, all she knows is teaching.

She’s returning to her dorm when a shriek rings out from Edelgard’s room. Byleth sprints as fast as she can, knocking down royal guards in the process.

“Edelgard!” she gasps, sword already drawn to protect her from any would-be assassin.

She finds Edelgard standing atop a desk chair. “Professor! You didn't hear anything just now, did you?”

“What’s wrong?!” She looks around. Is the assassin hiding? “What threatened you?”

“Nothing. It truly was nothing.”

“Are you certain?” Byleth lowers her sword. “Nothing?”

Tapping, clawing, scratching-- as soon as the sound resumes, Edelgard’s legs start shaking. The superstitious might call it a phantom.

Byleth, on the other hand, lived in a poor village near the woods. She sheathes the Sword of the Creator and cups her hand over her ear. She traces the sound to underneath Edelgard’s bed. She reaches under with a hand as fast as lightning and comes back holding a rat.

Edelgard shrieks again. “Remove that from my presence at once!”

An entire platoon of imperial guards are outside the dorm door. Byleth places the rat on the ground. It skitters away. “Nothing to see here,” Byleth says, before stepping back into the dorm and closing the door.

By now, Edelgard has returned to standing on the floor, thoroughly mortified. “I… I am mortified, Professor.”

“It’s okay to be afraid of rats.”

“It must be truly foolish for a person like myself.” She hugs herself. “I believe I've told you about this before...about when I was held captive beneath the palace. There were a lot of rats there. To this day, I just…”

“If any rats threaten you, I’ll deal with them,” Byleth says. Her mind turns again to Arundel. “You have my word.”

“Thank you for not laughing, Professor.” She begins to calm down.

“I would never.”

Calming down, Byleth’s eyes wander to the desk. More specifically, the portrait of Byleth that rests right on the desktop.

“Is that…?”

“Professor!” Edelgard grabs her by the shoulders. “Leave here at once! I recall now that Hubert needs to speak with me. I must change my clothes. Now. Whatever you do, don't look this way!”

“I already saw it--”

A muffled scream. Edelgard shoves her out the door. “Then forget what you saw! That's an order!”

Soon, she finds herself standing outside Edelgard’s dorm. The door slams behind her.

Five years have carved a chasm between her and her students that’s felt insurmountable. The war has left scars on all of them that she, in her absence, does not bear.

After the rat incident, Byleth wanders to the mess hall, reassuring guards that there was just a misunderstanding. Her students are crowded around the tables. Linhardt has fallen asleep on his plate. Caspar and Raphael are arm-wrestling, several other students cheering on either side. Mercedes is helping Annette balance a stack of plates that threatens to fall onto the ground.

She stands in the doorway, taking in the scene. Dorothea, then, stands up. “Professor! Sit over here!”

“No, sit with me!” Sylvain says with a wide grin. Felix rolls his eyes at him.

As all everyone clamors for her attention, relief bubbles up in her chest. She laughs, wiping a tear from her eye, and joins her dear students and friends.

* * *

The reconstruction efforts eat up any additional free time Byleth thought she had. There’s several sentiments of _I would have never torn open this wall if I knew I had to rebuild it._ Byleth takes a break, returning to her dorm, and finds a letter on her doorstep.

She pulls aside a guard. “Soldier, did you see the courier who left this?”

“No, ma’am, I did not.”

At least the _ma’am_ brightens her day a bit. “Dismissed.”

The guard leaves after a salute. Byleth considers the letter. It’s unmarked. It’s either some ‘secret admirer’ type love note, or a letter full of an airborne poison sent by an assassin.

With odds like that, how can she say no?

She opens it to find a folded parchment inside. The cutesy handwriting isn’t at all close to Edelgard’s cursive. It looks more like the assignments Flayn used to turn in.

_Professor,_

_This is a warning. Rhea plans to advance the Knights of Seiros in a surprise attack to take back Garreg Mach Monastery. My brother and I are to remain in hiding and will not participate on behalf of either side. Rhea has asked us to lend her our strength, but I persuaded my brother to decline. You saved my life, and spared us again in the same battle that cost you five years of yours. I could not in good conscience stand against you again._

_Allow me to explain something. Our kind, Nabateans, were meant by the Goddess to be nomadic-- to revere the land and change with the seasons. We were a transient people. Saint Seiros- who now assumes the name Rhea- established the Church only after having won a war which saw the death of the Goddess. She brought order to the world, but her grief warped her view of the Goddess and of humanity._

_Nabateans do not view gender the same way humans do. Our nature is to change; no two Nabateans in their draconic forms look alike. We can also choose the appearance of our humanlike forms, and thus ‘transitions’ occur. The Goddess is believed to have undergone such a metamorphosis. Rhea has forgotten this and her disrespect toward you shows a misunderstanding of the Goddess, and our people, at a fundamental level._

_I wish to sign this letter off with, ‘may we meet again as friends’. However, I am afraid there is one last thing of which to warn. The Crest stone that replaces your heart is tied to Rhea’s power. If she is soon no longer of this world, the Crest stone may disappear as well. I am sorry._

_Flayn_

She stares at the letter, letting her thumb idly stroke over the signature, before grabbing the nearest guard.

“Prepare a defense against invaders-- an expected sneak attack from the north. Call an emergency summit for the Black Eagle Strike Force immediately.”

“At once!” He salutes and rushes off. Soon, the monastery has come alight with preparations. Byleth stands still in the middle of the monastery’s pulse.

There may not come a time when she has to live in a world without Edelgard. Rather, Edelgard may have to again live in a world without her. If she shares this information, would it tempt her to stop the cause? Even if not, would it distract her so much that her enemies would overtake her? The war would have taken thousands of lives for nothing.

Byleth burns the letter.

* * *

Rhea kneels before the saplings and offers silent prayers for their growth. Scorched trees from the battle over five years ago litter the Sealed Forest, some still bearing magic scarring from the Sword of the Creator.

“No respect for the Goddess… no respect for the world she loved,” Rhea whispers. She plucks a dead sapling from the ground and crushes it in her fist. “Byleth Eisner. You’re nothing more than a creature. The Goddess has no punishment wicked enough to punish you for the depths of your sin.”

She’s in the middle of another prayer when heavy footsteps approach from behind. Rhea would recognize that stomping anywhere. Catherine, her most loyal knight. One of the few people who hasn’t stabbed her in the back.

 _Soon, mother, we will have our revenge. Just a little longer, mother,_ Rhea says, lips moving in a silent prayer. She rises and turns to face Catherine. “Report.”

“Yes, Lady Rhea.” She’s standing tall and stiff. She’s only formal when she has bad news to deliver and doesn’t want to worsen Rhea’s mood with a slouch. “The unit that invaded the monastery has been completely driven away. We were able to make a clean sweep of those who came to attack us. However, I fear we can do nothing but retreat for now.”

Disappointing. If Shamir hadn’t ended her contract, she could have easily turned the tides of the battle. Or if Seteth and Flayn had responded to her missive… “What of Seteth and Flayn? Did my courier never reach them? We could have used their assistance.”

“Actually, Lady Rhea…” Catherine swallows, hard. “Seteth and Flayn were not present on either side. However, our enemies were aware we were coming. It may be that they were warned about our plans.”

Catherine looks to the side.

The birds call in the trees. The bugs hum their song. Catherine shivers as the air gets colder. Soon, the forest has fallen completely silent. She can hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She looks back up at Rhea.

The Archbishop stands, expressionless, hands clasped delicately in front of her.

“That is a shame,” Rhea finally says, her words controlled. “To think they would stand on the side of a modern Nemesis rather than on the side of the Goddess… may the Goddess spare no mercy in her judgement upon them.”

“I am sorry, Lady Rhea.”

“I expected I would be the only one left.” She turns her back to Catherine. “Mother, please wait for me. I promise that I will save you… The filthy thief who stole you from the Holy Tomb…”

She drives her nails like claws into the bark of a dead tree. The wood shatters as easily as she crushed the sapling.

“I will crush that boy with my bare hands!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment, thank you!


	4. absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for a brief suicide in this chapter. skip from "Something seems to click" to the next scene to avoid it

Grief is a tricky thing.

In this war, Byleth has solved so many problems with combat. Cleaning up the aftermath takes more than a few well-placed swings. Even in the middle of the Imperial army’s noise, she feels as if she’s lost in the same silence that she faced after her early battles as a mercenary.

Back then, she and Jeralt would take their shovels to bury the dead and called it a day for cleanup, but even once they had thrown the last shovelfuls of dirt onto the graves, Byleth hadn’t been able to put the faces of the dead to rest in her mind.

As the war inches toward its gruesome conclusion, she finds that there’s little else she can do to improve the combat skills of the Black Eagle Strike Force. She keeps their skills sharp, but her concerns fall more upon their emotional health rather than physical. Poring over texts in the library, imagining every drafty breeze is her mother watching over her, she coins two terms: ‘traumatic stress’ and ‘melancholy’.

The latter has made itself known to her for years. It shows its face when she looks in the mirror, or when she recalls the name ‘Ashen Demon’, or just for no reason at all, as chronic as acne.

Traumatic stress, though, is new. It grips the Black Eagle Strike Force like a bitter winter’s chill. Ashe cooks in the cafeteria; Annette tends the garden; Bernadetta writes; Dorothea sings; Lindhardt studies. On the outside, it doesn’t seem as if their lives have changed since five years prior. But they go about their days with weight in their footsteps, their shoulders made heavy by ghosts who will never again have the privilege of enjoying these things.

The day after Felix was forced to fight his own father in the battle for Arianrhod, he spent from dawn until dusk sparring hard in the training grounds, beating every dummy senseless until the straw had burst from all of them. Rumor had it that Sylvain and even Jeritza spent many of those hours fighting with him in silence until their bodies gave out from exhaustion.

Byleth knows that type of silence.

This is the price she was willing to pay to fight alongside Edelgard. All of them had made that choice. The only cure Byleth can find for her newly-coined ‘traumatic stress’ is solace in another person. Her students link hands and help one another keep moving.

Companionship within friends might fill a part of the void, at least. At the end of the day, Cerrik, Alois, or Felize will check on Byleth. It calms a different part of her heart that even her dearest friends can’t reach, a part that had felt warm when Jeralt held her, or- more recently- imagining her mother.

The day before they march toward the Kingdom capital, she brings a bottle of Falchion Brew and a bouquet of flowers to Jeralt’s grave and finds someone already there. Tears trace down Edelgard’s face, but she doesn’t acknowledge them.

Byleth softly places both items on Jeralt’s grave. Edelgard remains still.

“He was a good man,” Edelgard says. Her voice doesn’t crack under stress; she’s too well-practiced for that.

“He was.”

“Hubert… he informed me that you were made aware of the allies we’ve made to win this war.” Her jaw juts out stiffly. Her whole stony demeanor reminds Byleth of a dam being slowly but surely cracked by the weight of the water it contains. “Those who killed your father… The type who would release those pillars of light upon a city we’d captured.”

Moments after Arundel scolded them for killing Cornelia of Faerghus in battle, who was apparently one with Solon or Kronya’s ilk, Hubert had broken the news. Nothing remained of Arianrhod. Arundel and his companions, ‘those who slither in the dark’, had called down otherworldly explosions that reduced the city to a crater. It had been a senseless waste of life with no known survivors.

“He also informed me that they’re going to pay dearly,” Byleth said. “I’m holding you to that promise, Edelgard.”

“I want nothing more than to fulfill it.” Edelgard clenches her fists. “Sometimes, my teacher, I wonder what it would be like to only live among such allies as those serpents.”

“I can’t imagine you would still be standing where you are-- figuratively or literally.”

“I cannot imagine it, either. I would likely have fallen by now, whether by your hand or Rhea’s.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “But death would come easily, my thoughts and my pain forever silenced. Even if my plan did succeed alone, I would feel no remorse destroying the likes of my Uncle and those who slither in the dark. However, to bear the pain I’ve caused allies that are truly beloved to me, such as the Black Eagles…”

“We all made this choice. We won’t abandon our goal when we stand upon the threshold of a new dawn. I guarantee you that Rhea isn’t in mourning right now, save for whatever image she has in her mind of the goddess.”

The dam breaks.

“Jeralt…” She hides her face with her hands. “Randolph, Ladislava, and so many more. They weren’t killed by the likes of Rhea, but rather, by me.”

“You’re wrong.” Byleth’s tone is firm. “Your generals were more than anyone else willing to lay down their lives for you and chose to do so, not by your command. They followed their hearts until the end and passed with no regrets. As for my father, you didn’t give that order. Kronya was the one responsible.”

“I helped her into the Monastery. I gave her information and power and opportunity. I might as well have put the blade into her hands. For that alone, I expected you to revile me with the full force of your heart.” Edelgard turns her face away, as if to hide from her.

“I could never. That wouldn’t be even close to what he would want, either.”

“You cannot say that with certainty. The dead cannot speak.”

“His memory lives on within me. Within all of us who choose to honor him,” Byleth says. “The same goes for you. If he were here… well, he would start off by saying he’s awful at consoling people. And then he would invite you to go fishing.”

She manages a bitter laugh. “Fishing. I’ve… I’ve never been.”

“He liked to fish. He would do it just for fun, or to catch a meal, but it was also his way of processing things emotionally. During a fishing trip, he told me that I look like my mother, and that he’s proud of me.”

Edelgard takes it in, likely thinking she wished to have such a support. Her father had been her light, but she had spent just as much time supporting him. When Byleth had told her stories of Jeralt in exchange for stories of her siblings, Edelgard had hung onto every word.

Byleth steps forward and puts a hand on her shoulder. “He would say something, like… we all have difficult things that we have to do. All you can do is get through them. Sometimes, that was his advice to me. Just continue.”

“Thank you, Byleth,” she manages. “So many times, you have supported me through such a state of self-loathing, despite your own burdens.”

“That’s what friends do, Edelgard.”

“I… I am so grateful for you.”

Byleth allows Edelgard to embrace her. Edelgard clings tight. Byleth squeezes Edelgard in her strong arms.

“I’m grateful for you, too,” Byleth says. “I think we were fated to be friends.”

“Friends.” Edelgard laughs. “It’s not so intolerable at all, except that we're so much more than that... at least in my mind.”

“I… feel the same.”

They stay in the safety of one another’s arms for several moments longer. The birds sing, and the wind blows, and animals call in the distance. The sounds hadn’t been gone; they simply had to listen for them.

“You know...instead of Edelgard, you can call me just El. If you so please,” Edelgard says. “By the time I wanted to share the nickname with my mother and my siblings, it was too late. My father used it, for a time. I shared it with one another, too, back when I thought my body was my own. But… now there's no one left who calls me El. But with you, well...I think I could allow it. In fact, it would mean a great deal to me.”

“I understand, El.”

Against her shoulder, Edelgard smiles.

* * *

The blue flag of Faerghus flies high over the Tailtean Plains. Reports signal that King Dimitri leads the troops himself. It’s unlikely that he left his capital alone in the hands of Seiros (as the immortal dragon-person is now known again, having shed her old skin as ‘Rhea’).

Edelgard’s focuses solely on strategy. “He wouldn’t take his chances with the Kingdom army alone, despite the strength of the Knights of Faerghus. He must be planning to use the church to gain the upper hand in battle. With the rain, that must be difficult to coordinate. The Knights of Seiros may be laying in wait for ambush.”

“Then we should be on alert for attacks from the side and rear as well.” Hubert turns toward a soldier. “Spread this order at once.”

A salute. “Yes, sir!”

The soldier leaves to follow orders. Hubert strokes his chin. “Now that I think about it, the Kingdom's Army is quite different than it once was. They have intercepted us at Tailtean Plains and may be using subterfuge... In the past, the king would have introduced himself before beginning a fair fight.”

“A fair fight…” Edelgard frowns. “The words alone remind me of how he once was. Don't you agree, Professor?”

Byleth frowns. It feels like ages ago that she met the polite blond boy who led the Blue Lions house. Even when students transferred to the Black Eagles, he would encourage them with a smile- however melancholy he might feel inside- to go and reach their full potential. When Edelgard had revealed herself to be the Flame Emepror who supposedly was responsible for the murder of his family and therefore the genocide of Duscur people, Dimitri’s last thread of sanity had snapped.

“Dimitri spoke often of honor, didn’t he?”

“He did, before delusion took him,” Hubert says. “To my knowledge, the words ‘fair fight’ do not seem to suit Dimitri anymore. Since he ascended the throne, he has earned his title as ‘King of Delusion’. If he stops at nothing to continue the onslaught, I cannot imagine what will become of the battlefield.”

Edelgard shakes herself from her thoughts. “True. As soon as we can take our battle formation, we must advance. Dimitri, that past you cling to... I will soon free you from it.”

* * *

Rain pours onto the battlefield. Rhea had once referred to it as the tears of the goddess.

For whom the goddess cries, Byleth doesn’t know. If she and Sothis are now truly one and the same, she cries for no one. This battle is the fiercest she’s found herself in yet; to mourn so soon would only guarantee her a place among the dead.

As Hubert had thought, the Knights of Seiros bolster Kingdom forces, led by their namesake. Seiros, in her war regalia, looks as if she’s leapt out of time. Byleth doesn’t believe in fate-- she doesn’t believe that they were destined to clash here, in the battlefield that once plagued her dreams. But she does make sure she’s the first one to meet Seiros in combat before she can slaughter any other innocents.

Seiros stands tall and proud, wearing her human skin but bearing her fangs. “I once walked this world as Seiros, the warrior, and defeated the Fell King Nemesis. Now, here I stand, facing one who wields the same sword as he… a vile man who dares stand against my people, who have suffered so much!”

“Show me the man who hates your kind rather than the oppression you specifically have spent a millenia encouraging, and I will gladly stand against him with you.” Byleth holds the Sword of the Creator steady. The power from her Crest activates the glow of energy within the sword.

Seiros, too, draws her blade. “My only regret was not being harsh enough and having ripped your heart from your chest the second we met. Now meet the fate you’ve chosen, the same fate as the so-called ‘King of Liberation’: to die in torment upon my sword, as the very lifeblood you have forsaken spills onto the earth!”

“It’s time for a lesson in grief, Rhea.”

Seiros’s eyes narrow at her pseudonym. She lets out a scream of rage and pain as she charges Byleth. She crosses the battlefield before a flash of lightning subsides. Seiros hasn’t accounted for the fact that Byleth has also gotten faster, parrying her sword and disarming her.

“Namely, in how to grieve,” Byleth says. Seiros’s holy blade tumbles down a hill and into a ditch. “Striking me down won’t bring her back. Nothing will bring the goddess back.”

“Shut up! Shut up shut _up!_ You have no place lecturing me, you swine!”

Byleth’s jaw cracks under Seiros’s fist. She can barely register the speed Seiros with which threw that punch before another one slams her in the chest. Undeterred by the loss of her weapon, Seiros pummels her with her bare, bloody hands. “You are but cold and warped flesh around my mother’s Crest! You know _nothing_ of the suffering humanity has put my kind through!”

Seiros slams Byleth hard over the head with her shield. Byleth falls to the ground, barely supporting herself with her sword.

“I could slay a thousand of your traitorous kind and not have repaid humanity’s toll!” Seiros kicks Byleth to the ground and stomps on her chest. “And, by the Goddess, I **will**!”

A scream echoes from the battlefield. Edelgard’s special weapon, the axe called Amyr, has torn into Seiros from behind.

“I don’t advise presumptions, Rhea,” she says. Seiros twitches. “We will not die by your hand.”

The Imperial army, trained by Alois in countering every tactic the Knights of Seiros know, have turned the tide. A sole survivor from a defeated unit sprints up, gasping for air. “Lady Rhea!” the knight begs. “We are routed! You must retreat! You must survive!”

Seiros reaches back, still staring down at Byleth, and withdraws the axe herself. She doesn’t acknowledge the wound. “To lose to a thief… a thief and a piece of treacherous scum...”

“It would be strange if it were just one of us, wouldn’t it?” Byleth says. She strikes fast, grabbing Seiros by the knee and shoving her. She manages to get back to her feet. “But we stand together. You’re alone, Seiros.”

The Black Eagle Strike Force move in. Seiros grinds her sharp teeth, looking around at all the former students of the Officer’s Academy that once revered her.

“Fall back to Fhirdiad!” she commands. “The Goddess protects us! Believe in her and we shall be delivered from injustice!”

She’s gone before any of the attacks from the Strike Force hit her. Arrows and spells fly into open air.

Dimitri’s voice booms from across the battlefield. “The Church of Seiros has fallen back, but we have no such luxury! Everyone, fight for your lives! Victory to Faerghus!”

His rallying cry is answered by his army in full. The battle won’t end for a while still. The cavalry approaches from the horizon, fresh faces bearing blue banners of Faerghus.

Byleth drinks a healing elixir and nods to Edelgard, who commands to charge.

* * *

The Talitean Plains saw the defeat of Nemesis by Seiros, and the Adrestian Emperor by King Loog, who founded the Kingdom of Faerghus. Now, it sees two siblings across from one another.

On one end, Dimitri kneels in the grass gasping for air. The rain washes the blood from his numerous wounds; it runs red in the dirt around him.

On the other end, Edelgard stands with her axe raised and her mind far away.

“Edelgard…” Dimitri coughs. “What happened to you? What happened to--”

He addresses her by a name that Byleth doesn’t recognize. Edelgard shakes her head.

“That person no longer exists, and hasn’t for a long time.”

“That’s because he was killed by you, as you’ve viciously slain so many! Why… why did you do it? The Tragedy of Duscur… and why did you allow me to be the only one to live?! Answer me this, you monster!”

He tries to crawl toward her in the grass, but his hand flies to cover an open stab wound on his stomach. He refuses to cry out in pain, but he grinds his teeth and bites back a grunt.

“Your obsession with me is both appalling and misguided,” Edelgard says. “Not once were you willing to see past the person I was and work with the person I am against those truly responsible.”

“Your lies won’t fool me anymore! The ghosts of that day cry out for your blood! They watch you work with the likes of people who would destroy a freshly-conquered city, full of citizens in a state of surrender!”

He tries again to crawl forward. “You will know the regret of my father, who was killed for you! Of my stepmother, who was slain by her own child! You will bow your head before all the lives you trampled for your ideals before you die in misery!”

The rain pours. History would never see if either of them had tears on their faces.

“Dimitri. You must know that Rhea has enabled you to believe these lies. She has prayed upon your anguish and made you, a King, into a tool to use against me. She’s already abandoned you. At this moment, she rallies your people in Fhirdiad as her own, to send them to their deaths against me.”

Edelgard lowers her axe and holds out her hand.

“I offer you this chance. Please, Dimitri. I first asked you then to take my hand so I might teach you to dance. When you led me in the ballroom, it was the first time I felt as if I could live my life as my true self-- as a woman. Whether you know it or not, that day, you inspired me to live on. Now I offer you my hand in hopes it could do the same.”

The end of the battle rages around them as if they’re the eye of a vicious storm. Knights, bound by their codes of honor, do not retreat without the order from their lord. Entire squadrons charge into battles in which they’re outnumbered five to one. Senseless war, senseless death.

Something seems to click in Dimitri’s mind. There’s clarity in his eyes for the first time in over five years.

“I will... meet you in the fires of eternity... El.”

The flash of a dagger and a wet, heavy sound. Edelgard’s still holding out her hand as Dimitri collapses, having stabbed himself.

* * *

“Report.”

The soldier salutes. “The Kingdom army has finally retreated, Your Majesty. The Knights of Seiros have withdrawn to Fhirdiad in the meantime, the Archbishop leading them. It would be difficult to give chase now.”

Edelgard shakes her head. “Dismissed.”

The soldier leaves her, Hubert, and Byleth standing in the rain, just the three of them. The transition to cleanup has begun.

“Next time, we will end this,” Byleth says.

She nods slowly. “Yes. Together, we'll end this once and for all,” Edelgard says. “For all of the lives lost in battle, by our allies and foes alike... And for Dimitri, as well…”

Byleth pauses. “Dimitri… I didn’t think he would do it.”

Hubert speaks slowly. “It is my opinion that he would have succumbed to his wounds mere minutes later. He wanted to avoid meeting that fate, as well as falling by the hand of Her Majesty.”

“Do you think it was that simple? To deny me the supposed pleasure?” Edelgard asks, her voice tight. “I suppose we may never know the truth. Whether he felt remorse or he was unable to shake off his delusions… it’s between he and the goddess now.”

The rain continues to pour. She takes several deep breaths, steadying herself.

“The thirst for revenge that imprisoned him was the result of my uncle's strategy. It was he and those who slither in the dark who were responsible for that tragedy, but he believed that I was the cause of everything...and he lost sight of his path as king. There was nothing I could do to save him.”

She rubs her hands over her face. “I swore to myself I would end his misery, but in the end, I hadn’t the courage to do even that.”

Hubert steps forward. “Seiros and Lord Arundel are the ones who put him in this state.”

“You can mourn him, El,” Byleth says. “You and he were like siblings once.”

“The version of me that was his ‘brother’... the one that Dimitri so missed… that person died many years ago.” Edelgard’s jaw is clenched, hard. “The story of the two Princes has long since concluded.” She takes a shaky breath. “This tragedy was just another chapter in history. May this next chapter end with the fall of everyone who would use humanity as pawns.”

Byleth squeezes Edelgard’s hand. “Let’s take back this world, together.”

* * *

_In the night, Edelgard holds a dagger._

_It had been a gift from a certain prince. A promise now broken._

_Byleth sits by her side until Edelgard puts it back away. A new promise is forged._

_They hold one another until the dawn._

* * *

Arundel’s shadow stretches miles before him to signal his arrival. A chill falls over the Imperial army’s encampment.

“So, we have finally arrived,” he says, looking down his nose at the Emperor and Enlightened One. “It has been a very, very long road.”

Edelgard speaks carefully. “Why are you here, Uncle? We haven't prevailed just yet.”

“Even better. I decided I wanted to see the end with my own eyes. The very moment that humans will finally be free from the control of that false beast of a goddess..”

He makes a sound of displeasure. “It is unfortunate that there’s still work to be done after this. More so-called ‘children of the goddess’ still linger. Such as that ‘family’ of two...”

Byleth’s brow twitches. “Seteth and Flayn fell in battle.”

“You would do well to not lie to me, _vessel_ ,” Arundel says. “We are not as blind as you think. Flayn had a letter delivered to you.”

She bites her tongue. If he knows that much, what else does he know?

“I would question your allegiances,” Arundel says. “For what reason besides treachery would you have to spare the spawn of the Fell Star? Or to allow that von Riegan boy to escape?”

Byleth grinds her teeth. Edelgard quickly intercedes. “My teacher has stood firmly by my side and intends to see that through until Rhea no longer exists in this world. To question her at this hour before such a crucial battle cannot benefit either of us.”

Arundel’s gaze drifts from Byleth back to Edelgard, who doesn’t break eye contact. “Behold today’s battle to your heart's content,” she says, “just don't get in our way.”

Finally, he shakes his head. “Of course. I could not stand to be dragged into the fighting. When this fight is over, a world completely controlled by the Empire will be upon us.”

“Not completely. I will only do what I must,” Edelgard says, with pursed lips. “Like my Professor, I have no desire to see unnecessary blood spilled.”

He folds his hands behind his back.

“You, like a child, hesitate to spill _any_ blood. You could not even put down that rabid ‘king’ of Faerghus. That may very well see your imminent demise. You’re above this, Edelgard.”

Byleth snaps. “And what advantage is gained by complete demolition of all life? What prevents you from unleashing an explosion from the ‘javelins of light’ upon Fhridiad and killing Seiros that way? Clearly it isn’t care for the lives of the innocents within the city. You want the blood to be on Edelgard’s hands, you coward, while you hide away from the big scary battle. You’re a leech upon our cause.”

Edelgard’s jaw goes slack. Arundel’s brows just knit. There’s a twinkle of amusement in his eye. Those eyes that are sunken into his skull as if his skin doesn’t fit him just right.

At her lowest point, watching her father be killed, a mage had appeared and protected the assassin, Kronya. His skin had been unnaturally white, his hair the same color. The only thing in common had been the expression in his sunken eyes.

Hubert hadn’t warned her that they were working with Lord Arundel, who happened to be among ‘those who slither in the dark’. They’re working with Lord Arundel, the one who _leads_ the serpents. One of the ones who took Jeralt’s life.

Arundel turns to Edelgard and addresses her by the same unfamiliar name that Dimitri had used. “Reel in your lapdog. Surely you have the spine to do that. Or did trying to become a woman remove all the spine we put in you?”

“Byleth will be punished accordingly after the war has ended,” Edelgard says, her eyes distant and far away. “Leave here, Uncle.”

Arundel vanishes with a spell.

* * *

As final preparations are made, Edelgard pulls Byleth aside.

“I’m sorry--” Byleth begins.

“You’ve jeopardized our chances of winning this war and reconstructing Fódlan afterward,” Edelgard says, “and I cannot thank you enough for it.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Dimitri was right to hate me and succumb to his delusions. I have relied on the strength of my Uncle’s troops and the weight of his coffers, but in doing so, I’ve compromised my ideals. I had once viewed it as necessary in order to win the war.” Edelgard puts her hands on Byleth’s shoulders. “That was before you joined my side. You and the Black Eagle Strike Force.”

“Edelgard… you don’t need to cover for me because I’m a mercenary dog who can’t keep her mouth shut.”

“You’re my conscience, Byleth, and my closest friend. You’ve opened my eyes. I cannot string you along any further on empty promises that Lord Arundel will pay. When? How many more lives must he take?”

Edelgard takes heavy breaths. “In addition… you may have sensed it. One of the things I have kept from you, in my cowardice and my selfish desire. The truth of the power you wield.”

Byleth speaks. “I was made aware. The one who warned me that the Knights of Seiros planned to take back the Monastery was Flayn… or, should I say, Saint Cethleann. She said that the Crest of Flames within my heart is tied to Rhea’s power.”

“Yes. You know, then, that you and Rhea- Seiros- share a bloodline, in a sense. Many moons ago, Jeralt sacrificed his life for Rhea and received her blood in order to survive. It bestowed him with a Crest of Seiros. It was for that reason he was like a Nabatean-- immortal until taken unjustly from the world.”

Edelgard steps closer and takes Byleth’s hands in her own. “That blood runs through your veins. When Seiros is no longer of this world, I fear that you will fall as well. And if that happens, my teacher… you will die without my ever having fulfilled the promise of justice for Jeralt and all the victims of my Uncle.”

“Unlike Dimitri, I do not live for revenge. If I am to die to brin about a better world, I would have considered it to have fulfilled my father’s memory.” She manages to smile. “I must be selfish too, because I’ve pretended that the end hasn’t neared for me. I would like to imagine a world in which we could spend many years together, to make up for lost time and then some.”

Edelgard bites her lip. It’s one of her telltale signs that she’s trying to hold back her emotions-- to be Arundel’s perfect tool. The tears start to flow when Byleth cups her cheek in her hand.

“I hold nothing against you, El. Let’s not make presumptions. We’ll win this battle together, and you’ll right the world with the strength of the Black Eagle Strike Force. And, together, you’ll bring down Arundel too.”

“Will I be able to move forward without you?”

“You will not have to, for I will be with you even if I fall here.” She gestures to Edelgard’s chest. “In your heart, El.”

Edelgard manages a laugh through the tears. “It has been many years since I’ve felt as if I have one. As if I’m not just a perfect killing machine, walking a dark path on twisted ideals for the only other family I have left.”

“Your family is awaiting you now, El. They’re ready for you to lead them into battle.”

They linger. Byleth notices Edelgard is staring at her lips. Finally, Edelgard pulls her hands free. “Thank you, Byleth. We cannot delay any longer.”

“Let’s go.”

* * *

_“You are still satisfied with the form you have chosen?”_

_Seiros, a child, nods up at the tall woman. “Yes, mother.”_

_“You continue in your same form that you chose without sway, as the youngest of my children. May it continue to please you so long as you choose to inhabit it. As the seasons change, so do we Nabateans. As do I, myself. To stay within your true form, even if it remains as you initially found it, is also a choice worth celebration.”_

_Seiros listens to the happy and bustling din of their people outside. The Goddess had made them all free to choose their paths save for one thing: they all share reverence for the world the Goddess chose._

_“However, change must never be stifled, no more than the world should suffer under an endless winter without spring. I ensure that you shall see to that, even if I am one day no longer in this world.”_

_“Where would you go, mother?”_

_“Even I cannot forsee the future, my darling Seiros, for it is being written by all of us as we speak. Now go. I must meet with the humans of this world. Go, and make me proud.”_

* * *

Banners of the Adrestian Empire cloud the horizon. Seiros spits blood onto the ground.

Catherine returns to her side for a report. “Lady Rhea-- I mean, Lady Seiros. The Imperial army is calling for our surrender. We’re vastly outnumbered, if I may be forgiven for saying so, and the death of King Dimitri has destroyed morale among both our armies. Perhaps we could flee from Fódlan for now, and--”

Seiros cuts her off with a wave of her hand. “We shall not surrender when we have the Goddess on our side. Even if it must split the heavens, we shall not yield to the wicked ones!”

Catherine nods. “Understood, Lady Seiros, but the citizens are still on lockdown. Emperor Edelgard has promised to grant complete asylum to any citizen who wishes to evacuate.”

“If you see such a sacreligious coward, kill them on sight,” Seiros says. “Better yet, set fire to the city. I demand the heathens burn in the flames of eternal torment!”

“What?! No, you can't do that!”

Seiros takes a step toward Catherine. The ground quakes. “That was an order.”

Finally, Catherine relents. “As...as you wish. But is there truly no other way?”

“What other way do humans have for salvation at this hour?” Green light bursts from Seiros’s body. Her scales twist over her body. “I will kill as many as it takes to smite that apostate myself!”

Catherine shields her eyes as the Immaculate One ascends into the sky. Her shadow casts over the Imperial Army as she releases a roar of pure, primal fury.

* * *

The Immaculate One rises above the plumes of smoke as Fhirdiad burns.

“Black Eagle Strike Force, to me!” Edelgard commands. “Our target is the Immaculate One! The Imperial Army’s task is to help as many citizens escape from the city as possible!”

She draws Aymr, her legendary axe. “This is the end of our long war. After this victory, Fódlan will finally be united and truly free! Together, we’ll usher in a new world!”

A rallying cry echoes from the Black Eagle Strike Force. Everyone chimes in with their ideal: for Emperor Edelgard, for the future of Brigid, for those who fell in Duscur, for those who have given their lives in this war, for a world without the Crest system.

Encouraged by her team’s dedication, Edelgard points her axe forward. “Imperial army! Black Eagle Strike Force! Charge!”

* * *

Byleth narrowly dodges another blast of light. The house behind her- fortunately, evacuated- immolates into soot.

**“Give her back!”** screeches the Immaculate One. It’s as if she’s truly reverted to the state of a beast. **“My mother… give her back! I’ll kill you as many times as I have to!”**

Byleth swings the Sword of the Creator, the blade stretching like a whip and striking the dragon from the sky. “The Goddess gave me a second chance, Rhea!” Byleth shouts. “Do you think she’ll show you the same mercy?!”

“Now, Strike Force!” Edelgard commands.

A joint attack strikes the dragon while she’s down, causing her to roar in pain. The battalions ride in like the cavalry, Cerrik leading Jeralt’s mercenaries. They swarm the beast; she tries her hardest to throw them off, but she can’t focus on one target.

Despite the initial advantage, the Immaculate One soon regains herself and scatters the battalions with a well-placed blast. Even as Edelgard tries to encourage her to surrender, Seiros only responds with screeches of rage. Byleth has to wonder if there’s any of her sane mind left in there or if she’s simply reverted to her feral instincts.

The minutes bleed into hours, or so it feels; more of the city succumbs to the flames, buildings crumbling, flags burning. A banner that had been left in the city bearing Dimitri’s visage reduces to ash. Edelgard keeps Byleth going, but so does the panic in the dragon’s eye as Seiros’s empire crumbles around her.

Edelgard yells: “For Dimitri, who Seiros left for dead!”

The former Blue Lions respond to the rallying cry. The Immaculate One snaps her jaw at Byleth, but instead, Felix sinks his blade into her maw. As she tries to shake him free, blasts of magic from the casters erupt in her face. Well-placed shots from Ashe and Ingrid blind her as she struggles to recover.

“We’re ending your nightmare, Rhea! This one’s for Claude!” Leonie announces. She slams her lance against her shield and the other Golden Deer follow suit. The Immaculate One lunges toward them, right into their trap, straight from Claude’s playbook-- the Deer dodge and she collides headfirst into a stockpile of explosives. The blast sends her flying, landing hard on her back as her scales tear up the city’s streets.

Byleth catches Edelgard’s eye. They share a nod and charge.

“When humans reach out and support one another, there’s no more need for gods!” Edelgard shouts.

She and Byleth take to either side of the Immaculate One. “Your reign of tyranny is over,” Byleth says.

A last, desperate blast of energy gathers in the dragon’s maw. The Sword of the Creator and Aymr share a red glow. Time stands still as heaven holds its breath.

The Immaculate One’s attack never fires. The weapons meet their target. When the dust clears, a toxic green blood pools at their feet.

The Immaculate One, bleeding profusely, stares at the sky. Her voice comes out weak, sounding closer to Rhea. “After all I have done… how could the Goddess let me fail?”

“You let yourself fail, Seiros.” Byleth finds herself approaching the dragon’s head. She places a hand on her scales. “You failed the moment you abandoned the tenets your mother set for your people.”

“Humans… betrayed her, scorched the planet, turned our bones into the very weapons with which you’ve slain me,” says the Immaculate One. “They did it because they could.”

“You responded to the slaughter of innocents in kind,” Edelgard says. “Generations of people, believers in your Mother or not, have suffered as payment. Now the world itself cries in pain from your actions.”

The dragon gasps for breath. The smoke overwhelms her. She lets out a cry of pain.

“Seiros. The voice of the Goddess is no longer with me, but I can feel her will,” Byleth says. “You cannot undo the hurt you’ve caused or bring back those you have killed. Still, you may make peace with the goddess.”

“Generations of vessels… who could not connect with my mother,” Seiros wheezes. “And the one that does… I turn away by my own hand. I was a fool. Repentance is beyond me now.”

Hubert panics for the first time. “Forgive the interruption, but look to the sky!”

A single, massive javelin of light streaks toward them. It cuts through the smoke, a screech piercing the sky with its speed. This had been Arundel’s gambit all along, to erase them as he did Arianrhod.

The Immaculate One rises.

“There will not another strike against my Mother’s world!”

She soars into the sky toward the missile. The humans left on the ground shield their eyes as energy gathers in her maw. The shockwave hits them before the blinding light overtakes them.

* * *

Rubble. The city still stands. The flames have died out.

Edelgard is the first to regain consciousness. The others were knocked out by the shockwave as well. The Immaculate One is nowhere to be seen.

“Byleth?”

Edelgard forces her vision to focus. She’s concerned for all her beloved friends, but there’s one she cares for most of all. She finds her laying on the ground, the Sword of the Creator by her side. The sword’s glow has faded.

“Byleth!” Edelgard drops to her side. She cradles the woman in her arms.

She places her ear to her chest. Nothing. Byleth’s eyes stare blankly upward. The sky has cleared.

Tears fall on Byleth’s chest. Her skin has already gone cold. Edelgard clutches Byleth tight and sobs.

* * *

_Warmth. They’re nowhere, but also, everywhere at once. She opens her eyes to see a man and woman whose arms are linked._

_“Come on, kid,” Jeralt says with a chuckle. “You’re not dead yet this time, either. What’s the hurry?”_

_“You taught her well. That’s why she’s fallen again for the ones she loves,” the woman says, a proud smile on her face._

_You know, Byleth thinks, she does look just like me._

_She steps toward them hesitantly. She reaches out. “Am I--?”_

_“Not yet.” The woman- Sitri- unlinks her arm from Jeralt’s. She cups Byleth’s face in her hand. “Look.”_

_Everywhere, nowhere, the beginning, the end. They’re floating through it all, and then the scene settles upon a dead, unbeating heart. A Crest of Flames has been implanted into it, causing blood to circulate through her veins._

_The Crest glows, and- having fulfilled its purpose- crumbles. The binding on the heart disappears._

_It beats once._

_It beats again. And keeps going. A woman with white hair listening to her chest suddenly stops crying._

_Sitri chuckles, covering her mouth with her hand. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you, Byleth. My husband was telling me all about what I missed.”_

_“Mother…” Byleth can’t find the words._

_“I’m so proud of you. You’re more than anyone could have asked for in a daughter.” There’s a twinkle in Sitri’s eye. “Go on, now. Your work is not done.”_

_She feels it; the images are becoming unclear, fading back into the mist. Byleth becomes distantly aware of the crackle of flames and the heaviness of her body._

_Sitri parts, but Byleth hugs her. The next thing she knows, Jeralt has joined the embrace._

_“Shoot, this old doofus almost forgot.” Jeralt rubs the back of his head. “That little girl wanted me to pass a message on.”_

_She blinks. Word from Sothis? “Is she…?”_

_“She said, ‘from your friend: good job’.” He grins. “And I think she muttered afterward, ‘don’t die again until it’s your time, imbecile’.”_

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

When Byleth wakes up, she’s no longer in the embrace of her family, but instead in Edelgard’s arms. Her students and dear friends surround her as well, relief washing over their faces. They’re singed and scarred, but alive, together.

Byleth smiles so wide that her face hurts. For once, her smile meets her eyes. She lifts herself up and squeezes Edelgard so tight that she feels like she’ll snap. She’s laughing, and she doesn’t even know why. The emotion just flows like a river and she’s riding the waves.

Edelgard finds herself laughing too, tears of relief running down her face. She returns Byleth’s embrace. Throughout the remains of Fhirdiad, a cheer raises toward the sky.

* * *

It’s funny, really.

Back when she was a kid, Byleth would only ever see Enbarr for its taverns and mercenary guilds, tugging on her father’s coattails as he worked out the details of new jobs. Now, she stares out at the city at sunrise from the palace’s balcony. The city glows gold from this birds-eye view.

Gone are the days of swiping jewelry from distracted market stall owners or standing her reflection in front of the pretty dresses in the store windows. Edelgard has ensured that, during her stay, she is to be treated with as much respect as would be shown to the emperor herself. She finds herself filling days trying on different dresses and accessories, twirling and pretending she’s a princess awaiting the royal ball.

After a lifetime of fighting and self-hatred, she thinks she’s entitled to _some_ self-indulgence, thank you very much.

Ever since her Crest faded, her hair returned to its natural color. It’s bittersweet. It feels strange that Sothis is no longer with her, even if she may never truly be far from her. On the other hand, mint green _really_ was not her color.

Ever since the defeat of the Immaculate One, Byleth has been recovering for the work to be done next. The celebrations encompass the city and fill the days with dancing and drinking in Edelgard’s name. And thank the goddess that she’s willing to bear that burden. She’s sure some historical texts would mention the strange professor who received the title ‘Enlightened One’ and vanished for five years, but she’s content to fade from history. She’s not a demon nor a prophet; all she’s ever wanted to be is Byleth Eisner, the woman.

As the months stretch out, the work that’s still to be done looms ahead. Reconstruction and unification of Fódlan must take place. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus had been hit the hardest by the war, having lost its two most populated cities. Fortunately, the Imperial Army had succeeded in evacuating the vast majority of citizens and had granted refugee status to those who lost their homes. Making an impassioned speech about the Church’s manipulation of the late King Dimitri and extolling his virtues nonetheless, Edelgard welcomes the former Kingdom wholeheartedly into the Empire.

Several inventions that the Church of Seiros had banned for some reason or another are unveiled, which ushers in a renaissance. A faster printing press allows the quick production of books and allows accessibility to texts easily; literacy soars seemingly overnight. Near the rebuilding of Fhirdiad, the strange flammable black liquid- dubbed ‘oil’- is tested for uses besides war. Soon, the new Fhirdiad is lit by the world’s first oil lamps, and the city becomes a hub of innovation and invention. Aided by the dismantling of the Crest system and the rigid class system throughout the Empire, a golden age of equality and beauty follows the long and bloody war. Art flourishes, praising the Flame Emperor who stood against a false prophet. As Dorothea had once joked, the art that does mention Byleth casts her as the Emperor’s lover.

Not _entirely_ inaccurate. Now that she can identify her emotions without the filter of a dead heart, things have become much more clear.

The reconstruction goes slower without the support of Arundel and his forces. After the failed attack from the javelin of light, he’s gone underground; the Imperial army forces that storm his manor find it abandoned. Still, Edelgard hadn’t put enough stock in the power of humanity working together, or in the power of family. As the hunt for Arundel begins, Edelgard looks outward to establish peace with other world powers.

As Byleth is reflecting, the door to the emperor’s quarters opens. Edelgard enters, taking off her crown and setting it safely aside. She lets her hair flow down her back. “I have returned. Have you been enjoying your day?”

Byleth clutches her chest. This is normal, she reminds herself. For one’s heart to start pounding when a beautiful woman approaches is a human, normal thing. And there’s plenty of reason to be nervous considering what she plans to do.

“I have been,” she says. “The city of Enbarr is truly something to behold.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Edelgard takes her place by Byleth’s side. “If I may indulge in such a luxury… one day, after I’ve named a successor, I would love to see the world.”

“As would I.”

Byleth turns toward Edelgard. “El… you said, after this is over, you had something to tell me. Supposedly, it would make me hate you.”

“So you do remember.” Edelgard tenses up. “Are you sure you would not prefer to talk after a meal? Another feast is to be scheduled thanks to this year’s bumper crop, so we could take our time--”

“El.”

Edelgard sighs. “You are right. Silly to run from this, of all things, after what we’ve been through together.”

“I could never hate you. You know that.”

She clears her throat. “My teacher… from the first moment you saved my life, I have loved you. Never have I felt such a strong connection to another person. My feelings for you encouraged me to continue through the dark times, even if I feared such feelings would only make it more painful if you were to no longer walk with me on my path… yet, that day I feared where you would join Rhea’s side never came.”

Edelgard swallows a knot in her throat. She steps forward and takes Byleth’s hands in her own. “During the years you were gone, I loved you. I never gave up hope… and when you returned to us, my heart soared. Ever since I’ve experienced a world without you, I never want to have to suffer it again. My teacher… no, Byleth. I love you so sincerely that it overwhelms me. Would you do me the honor of sharing your life with me?”

Byleth’s eyes are misting over. It’s difficult to get a wrap on this whole ‘feeling unfiltered emotions’ thing. She laughs with joy. “Yes, El. I love you so much. I realize now that I’ve loved you for so long. I hadn’t felt myself worthy, especially having been born as I was… or the gap between us in title.”

“The circumstances of our births do not matter. We are both women who have shaped the world. And even though I may still refer to you as ‘professor’ from time to time, as well, it’s more of a force of habit than a reflection of my feelings. If you would prefer, I could try… ‘my love’?”

She giggles. “That’s so cheesy, El. If you’re certain about me, then…”

“I am certain. You’re the most beautiful and amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

Byleth pulls back, to Edelgard’s dismay, but she quickly reaches into a coat pocket. She’s kept Sitri’s ring close to her heart- literally- this whole time, waiting for the right moment. “This ring… Jeralt left it to me. It was my mother’s. He requested I share it with someone I truly love. I hope you will accept it.”

Her breath hitches. “Am I truly worthy of wearing such a thing? With what I have done to Jeralt, would he not feel anger at this proposal?”

“Never. You’ve proven yourself, El. He would be so proud of you.”

Relief floods over her face. “If you are certain, then, I would be honored to accept it. I will continue to work to feel worthy of it, and to create a world with you that’s worthy of his memory.”

Byleth slips the ring onto Edelgard’s finger. They admire its glow in the morning light.

“My teac-- my love?”

“Yes?”

“May I… kiss you?”

“I thought you would never ask.”

Slowly, they close the gap between them. Edelgard’s lips are soft and warm and sweet. Her hand rests upon Edelgard’s back, while her own hands run through Byleth’s hair.

For the first time, Byleth regrets having lost the power of the Divine Pulse-- not because she would undo any of the steps that led her here, but so she could stay in this moment for an eternity longer in order to savor it properly.

* * *

“There’s so many people out there,” Byleth worries.

Felize adjusts Byleth’s veil. “Probably the whole empire, kid. No pressure!”

Straightening his ascot, Cerrik groans. “Felize, will you knock it off? It’s the girl’s wedding day. We’re trying to make her feel at ease.”

“Unlike in our previous jobs, none of the people out there want to kill you,” Felize says with a thumbs up. “Probably?”

“You had better believe that we haven’t left a gap in security.” Alois chokes a little as a servant tightens his ascot around his neck. He loosens it a bit. “Everyone loves you and Edelgard! It will be fine. Might I say, you’re dressed to _empress?”_

“No, you may not say that,” Cerrik groans. “Keep thoughts like that to yourself.”

Alois laughs, and soon the contagious laughter has spread to all of them. Byleth looks at herself again in the mirror. The white dress covers her chest scar, flowing elegantly down her figure. Her makeup remains in place; her hair has been tied up by one of Edelgard’s own hairdressers.

Alois walks up and places a hand on her shoulder. “You’re beautiful, Byleth. Your father is watching proudly right now, I’m sure of it.”

“I am sure,” Byleth says. “This gala would be far too fancy for him, though.”

Cerrik chuckles. “He would endure it for his little girl.”

“You know,” Felize adds, “after you revealed your truth, he started worrying about boys looking at you differently. Boys!”

“That sure wasn’t a problem,” Alois laughs.

Felize clasps her hands together and makes mooning eyes. “ _‘Ooh, my Emperor, I will follow you to the ends of the Earth…’”_

“Was it that obvious to everyone besides me?” Byleth groans. “I am new to having a heart, thank you very much.”

“Let’s just say that I bought this fancy getup with money from the betting pool,” Cerrik says.

A servant enters. “It is time. Are you ready, my lady?”

Byleth stares at herself in the mirror, finally smiling. “I am.”

Alois takes her by the arm. He already looks like he’s about to cry from pride. “Thank you for the honor.”

Cerrik and Felize join the other mercenaries in the front row of the audience, in Byleth’s section. Alois walks Byleth down the aisle. Step by step, focusing on not tripping in her heels, Byleth walks down the red carpet toward the altar where her love awaits.

As soon as she sets eyes on Edelgard, all her doubts fade away. The emperor who has stated as fact that her days of crying are long behind her now has her lip trembling as she tries to hold back tears of joy. Alois gives Byleth away. Edelgard pulls back Byleth’s veil.

The world watches as the officator speaks; the wedding marks the beginning of a new age, a time of peace and prosperity, but most importantly, the joining of two women in love. After the two state their vows and formally exchange rings, the officator only speaks once more. “I now pronounce you emperor and wife. You may now kiss.”

Byleth feels her heart pounding. “We did it, El,” she whispers.

“We have come this far together, and I look forward to all the places we still have to go,” Edelgard whispers back. Their lips meet again, sealing their marriage, and cheers ring out from the massive audience that’s gathered.

Hand-in-hand, Byleth and Edelgard face their people and the future they’ve made together.

* * *

.

.

.

.

.

Several weeks after the wedding, Byleth spots a stray wyvern in the morning sky. It doesn’t seem to have a particular pattern-- rather, it’s just flying in lazy circles.

Finally, it seems to be descending. It drops something in front of Byleth and flies away. It’s a gilded chest. She almost feels wrong about opening it, feeling it to be a mistake, until she makes sense of the carving on top: it’s the shape of the Crest of Flames.

A wealth of treasures await inside. Silks and fine fabrics from Almyra, along with rare spices and gems. Out of place are small palm-sized statues depicting Cichol and Cethleann.

Byleth can’t understand who would send this. Is it a general sign of well-wishes from the country? Then why the figures bearing the two saints-- the two saints who would become Seteth and Flayn.

She finds a small latch which opens a hidden part of the chest. Inside the hidden compartment is a letter.

_Hey, teach._

_First of all, let me extend my most sincere congratulations. You and Emperor Edelgard have transformed Fódlan, and the world, for the better. Congratulations on your victory and your wedding, truly._

_I believe it would be mutually beneficial for us to move past our previous confrontations and work together to ensure this peace and prosperity for future generations. Without the support of the Empire’s former regent, reconstruction may be difficult. As Emperor Edelgard has stated many times, it is time for humans to work together. I would like to discuss with you the possibility of Almyra lending aid to reconstruction efforts as a sign of goodwill._

_A little bird told me that you and Jeralt had wanted to come visit us here in Almyra before everything happened. I regret that he never was able to come, even if his greatest draw may or may not have been “it isn’t Fódlan”. The weather’s beautiful this time of year. If you and your newly betrothed would like to visit and discuss the future of peaceful relations between Fódlan and Almyra, you both are welcome anytime. I have two friends here that won’t stop talking about you._

_They’re grieving, of course. They can sense that Rhea is gone. At the same time, there’s peace. She did a lot of harm to the world, of course. The day that Rhea passed, apparently the goddess smiled upon us again, and more children of the goddess awoke from a centuries-long slumber. Talk about a long nap, right?_

_As children of the goddess, they’re apparently looking to rebuild their people’s image and help confront a certain someone’s favorite Uncle. To reconstruct the Church of Seiros is apparently out of the question-- their wish is to embrace their old ways again. Flayn says she wants to take you fishing._

_Hope you enjoy the gifts. May you both live long and healthy lives, and peace be upon the peoples of Almyra and the Adrestian Empire._

_Khalid von Riegan (Claude)_

Claude-- or, Khalid. Even though his initial plan had failed, he still has other plans for the betterment of humanity. And the help would be welcome against those who slither in the dark.

Rubbing her eyes, Edelgard walks out onto the balcony. “What was that noise I heard?”

Byleth gives her wife a quick kiss on the cheek. “Letter from an old classmate.”

She hands over the letter for Edelgard to read. She does, so, quickly.

“What do you think the possibility is that this is one of Claude’s tricks and he plans an Almyran takeover while Fódlan is still recovering?” Edelgard asks.

“Knowing him, it’s hard to tell.” Byleth mindlessly turns over the Cichol figure in her hand. “It could be untrue that Seteth and Flayn have forgiven us for having turned against Rhea and the Church of Seiros.”

“Perhaps. I can at least believe this is from Claude and not my Uncle himself. The quality of these gifts would make them difficult for anyone but high nobility in Almyra to acquire.”

Byleth strokes her chin. “Seems like there’s no perfect answer. Yet, I want to trust Claude.”

“Even after all we took from him?”

“He was the one who walked into our camp after Leicester fell in battle and wished us a congratulations.” Byleth grins at the memory. “I want to live in a world where humanity reaches out and helps one another. Even if things do go sour, nothing will tear us apart so long as we’re by one another’s side.”

Edelgard smiles and drapes her arms over her wife’s shoulders. “Your optimism, as always, brings me hope. Have I told you yet today that I love you?”

“I don’t think so. It’s never too late to start, is it?”

They close the distance, their lips meeting as the sun rises. Byleth adores every moment she can have with Edelgard. As they part, they rest their foreheads gently against one another.

“I love you,” Edelgard says.

“I love you too, El.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's done. what was meant to be a fun drabble about byleth being trans as a kid has turned into a canon rewrite about the goddess herself being trans. anyway i'm going to sleep for 5 years.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Form of a Goddess [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822167) by [quoththegayven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quoththegayven/pseuds/quoththegayven)




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